Addendum
by OutoftheashIrise
Summary: Set after the series' end. Mac and Stella become inextricably drawn into the dangerous world of the mafia and dealers. Contains OCs. Rated T for language, etc. (see author's notes).
1. Prologue

Hello.:)

I'm new to this. Not new to fan fiction, or the site, but to being an author.

This work came about because of many factors, most of which I won't bore you with. Suffice it to say, for people like me, TV has created a vacuum, a need. And I wanted to fill it. That is to say, for a fan like myself, I had a lot of unsatisfactory endings of favorite characters and shows themselves.

This also came about because I've read fan fiction for many years now. Many, many authors have given me hours of happy diversion, and I wanted to give something back.

So, this fic is dedicated to the fans, like myself, who like this show and/or this pairing. It's a multi-chapter fic, and, sorry fans of the other characters on this show, but it has nothing of them. It's not that I don't like them. On the contrary, I'm very fond of them, but, as this is my first work, I wasn't sure I could even stay within character for Mac and Stella. Also, it's largely a Mac-centered fic. I actually love Stella's character just as much, but that's not how the muse led me this time.

I tried to stay pretty canonical, but I did diverge from the path on occasion. Like in the backstories, for instance. Not a ton, but some. I also took the story from where the show left off and tried to finish it, hence the title.;)

This humble work is also dedicated to the wonderful writers of the show, who spent all those hours of hard work sketching out great characters that still capture people's hearts and imaginations. Thank you.

And, last but not least, to the producers and actors of the show, who created the characters in the first place, and fleshed them out.

_**Story Notes**_: This story has language in it as it deals with the mafia and dealers, and I strive for reality as much as I can. Also there's some violence and some physical intimacy. It's pretty tame compared to what I've seen around. So, I rated this a 'T.'

It's not a case-fic. Mac and Stella are involved in a case, but it's not theirs, and there's no crime-solving; that's not the point of the story. I wanted to do something a little different, so, I placed Mac and Stella into a different environment away from their usual comfort-zones. This story also has an original character, Tom. From this prologue, you will see how he is connected to Mac and Stella's lives.

I try my best to update weekly, time permitting.

Have a nice week, guys.:)

* * *

_**Prologue**_

_"Think where man's glory most begins and ends, _

_and say my glory was I had such friends." _

\- William Butler Yeats

Tom Dougherty, 32, tall, handsome, dark-haired, with green-eyes, a former Marine, and now a cop, walked away from the window of a small local sandwich vendor and plopped down on one of the grey, weathered wooden picnic table benches out front, under the shade of a bright yellow umbrella, and slid his tray directly across from his partner, Jerry. A tall, sandy-haired, freshly minted rookie, younger than his counterpart by four years, Jerry Chance was a veteran himself, though lacking the same length of time on his service record that Tom possessed, and from the Coast Guard.

Tom eyed Jerry squeezing tons of ketchup on his fries and looked on in disgust, shaking his head. "Would ya like some fries with your ketchup?"

Jerry, the butt of many good-natured jokes, due to the unfortunate coincidence of his being paired with a guy named Tom—_'Tom and Jerry, really?'_—glanced up at his partner and snarked back sarcastically, "Hardy-har, Tommy. The world is a lesser place since you became a Marine over becoming a comedian." He smirked to himself as Tommy rolled his eyes and then went back to his meal.

In the background, Tom, ever observant, absently noted the many different people walking past them on the sidewalk as he squeezed some extra mustard onto his Polish hot dog smothered with Sauerkraut. His ears distractedly picked up on the upbeat sounds of The Lovin' Spoonful's "Do You Believe in Magic" playing on an old radio nearby.

"Boy, all the crazies are out today." Jerry took out a napkin from the pile in front of them and swathed it across his sweaty brow.

"It's the heat. Does somethin' to people," Tom replied, and then took a bite out of his hot dog, savoring the sudden flavorful burst in his mouth of the sausage and 'kraut mixed with the spicy tang of mustard. He swiped the side of his mouth with a napkin.

After a quiet moment—the two partners busy contentedly eating their meals—two friends, and fellow officers, Mac Taylor and Stella Bonasera, walked over to the table with their food and joined them. Stella slid in next to Tom, and Mac sat across from her, next to Jerry.

Mac took a long sip of his Coke, then sighed. "Hotter 'n hell today."

Looking prettily flushed, Stella replied, "Tell me about it. What I would give for a dip in the pool right now."

Tom snorted in response. "Jer and I have already had a kid left in the car, 2 domestic disturbance calls and a wreck where the participants, 2 adult males in their thirties, were tryin' to take each other apart at the scene. And it's just now 12:47."

"Forget the full moon, this heat gets inside people, makes 'em crazy." Jerry shook his head, and continued, "What a job."

Mac shook his head as well and looked up from his tuna on rye towards Tom. "Which reminds me... What we were talking about the other day...?"

Tom nodded and took a long gulp of his ice-cold soda, closing his eyes at the bliss of the cool liquid sliding down his parched throat. Condensation had already formed on the outside of the cup, he'd noticed when he opened his eyes again.

"Stell and I have actually finally both decided where we wanna go from here."

"What'sa matter? Not feelin' the beat anymore, Mac?" Jerry asked wryly.

Stella reached over the table and grabbed a long fry off of Mac's plate, swirling it in ketchup before biting the golden, crispy treat in half. Mac eyed her a moment and then winked, grabbing a fry himself.

"Forensics," she filled in, after finishing up the fry.

"Really? Sounds boring to me," Jerry jokingly responded. "Give me _real_ police work and some action anytime over dumpsters, the decaying stench of DBs and pounds of paperwork."

"Says the puddle pirate," Tom mocked.

"Hey, I'm sure Jerry saw a _lot_ of action in those cute, little cutters he rode around in in the Coast Guard," Mac chimed in, his face deadpan.

Tom smirked, then threw a wide grin Jerry's way.

"Yeah, yeah. That's right. Gang up on on the coastie. Real nice."

Stella smiled at Jerry sympathetically. "Must be tough sometimes, being friends with two jarheads, Jer."

Jerry, noticing it, and not minding sympathy from a beautiful woman, grinned back and then addressed her. "It's okay, Stell. They're just bitter because it's common knowledge Marines are crayon eaters."

Stella raised her eyebrows at Jerry, eyes twinkling. "Really?" She chuckled, always relishing this light, good-natured ribbing between the boys, when they relaxed a bit.

"It's true. In fact, Marine actually stands for Muscle Always Required, Intelligence Not Essential." He chuckled at his own, well-worn, joke and Mac and Tom shot a look at each other, silently communicating, as only two good friends, who've been through what they had together, can.

"I don't get it with the dumb jokes for the Marines as a go to. Seems ta me, that if you only have one basic joke in your bag of retorts, maybe _you're_ the ones with IQs lower than your ASVAB scores," Tom responded, enjoying this old, familiar game of busting the younger man's chops.

"That all you other service members got, Jer?" Mac raised his eyebrows to Jerry in faux curiosity.

"Please, I got _plenty_." Jerry eyed Stella again and waggled his eyebrows at her. Stella just rolled her eyes, knowing Jerry was currently dating, and crazy about, a sweet girl named Melanie and not flirting seriously.

"Anyway...back to more _important_ topics..." Tom interjected.

Jerry flipped him off and happily went back to his burger.

"I heard back from that recruiter from the Bureau."

"And...?" Mac asked him.

"And...I'm in. You guys are lookin' at a future undercover agent for the FBI. They think I have real talent."

Jerry snorted derisively at that and, karmically, choked on his bite of burger.

Mac slapped him several times on the back, hard, making him flinch.

He waved Mac's hand off after taking a long pull of his drink and mock-glared at him. "Thanks."

"Anytime," Mac responded, and grinned.

"Yeah, I bet," Jerry murmured, then shrugged and went back to his meal, allowing the conversation to continue.

"What does Maggie think about all this?" Mac asked, referring to Tom's wife of seven years.

"She's happy for me—for us. I think since junior's on the way, she's just happy for a higher paying job. Financial security, ya know?"

Mac nodded.

"Speaking of wives, how's Claire likin' her new job?"

"She loves it."

"Good to hear," Tom replied. He finished up the last of his hot dog and crumpled up the napkin in his hand, after wiping his mouth again. "Hey, what d' ya guys think about all meetin' at my place this weekend for a barbecue?"

"Count me in if there's beer and barbecue," Jerry agreed, before popping several messy fries into his mouth. Tom eyed Jerry's table manners and grimaced.

Mac grinned at his old Corps buddy. "Sure. Claire wants to get that new lasagne recipe from Maggie. And I know we don't have any plans this weekend."

"What about you, Stell? Can ya make it?"

"Love to, Tom. I'll bring dessert."

Just then, the foursome heard a call over their radios of shots fired on 54th and Lex. Jerry groaned, and him and Tom both stood. Tom started toward their vehicle, leaving Jerry to hurriedly stuff two last fries into his mouth and wipe his hands on a napkin.

"Back to the furnace," Jerry sighed, and then 'accidentally' bumped into Mac as he passed behind him, making Mac miss his bite of tuna sandwich and smearing mayo on the side of his face.

"Seriously?" Mac inquired. He grabbed a couple of napkins off the table to wipe his cheek.

"Hey, be grateful. I just improved the view for poor Stella here, seein' as she has to sit across from an ugly mug like yours and still manage to eat."

Mac smirked at the joke, and then he, Jerry and Stella all heard Tom yell at Jerry, and turned to see him hanging out of their patrol car window, motioning a hand in the air. "Hey, this ain't a limo service here. We got a job to do, kid. Time ta hit it!"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah..." Jerry jogged over to his side of the cruiser and got in.

Mac watched his friend drive off and then turned and nodded to Stella. "Great news about Tommy, huh?"

"It is." Stella smiled, genuinely happy for their mutual friend.

"Tom's pretty smart, great at adapting. He was made for a job like this."

Neither Mac, nor Stella, could hope to know that Tom's good news that day would have ramifications that would reach far into the future and seriously, even savagely, effect them all.


	2. Chapter 1

Well, here's the next chapter, a bit earlier than I expected to be finished with it.

This begins sometime after the show's end, timeline-wise.

Also, just wanted to do a special shout out to _**Lily**_, who was kind enough to take the time out of her day to leave an encouraging review. Thanks a bunch. :)

* * *

**Chapter One**

_"It's a dangerous business, Frodo, going out _

_your door. You step onto the road, and _

_if you don't keep your feet, there's no knowing_

_where you might be swept off to." _

\- J.R.R. Tolkien, _The Lord of the Rings_

Mac Taylor was at a Jersey diner with his favorite person in the world.

The summer sun had recently set, having enfolded her lovely features in rose and amber as she'd sat across from him. But now it was dark, had been for awhile now. And, as usual when they were together off duty, time got away from them.

Ever since Stella had been offered a job as a lab head in another borough in New York and had returned, they had quickly fallen back into their old friendship. Sure, they were unable to see each other as much as they used to when they'd worked at the same lab, but they did see each other more off the clock now than ever before. It was like they had to make up for lost time, both from her being in New Orleans and from them not working together anymore.

Mac had plenty of time on his hands now when he wasn't at work—since he and Christine had parted ways. Something he forced himself never to think about these days. But he still had his best friend with him. And Stella lived up to her name, spilt sunlight and warmth continuously into his life and staved away the darkness and loneliness that sometimes threatened to engulf him, and that was more than Mac felt he deserved.

So, he reveled in their time together, as did she.

The reason they were there that night was because they'd had a case that had crossed several jurisdictions, involving the two labs and bringing in the two lab heads. That same case had brought them to Jersey to wrap up the last of the details. It'd been a long time since they'd collaborated together, and it was nice, seamless and intuitive working together again—neither wanted it to end.

After they'd finished up the last of what they'd needed to do that day, Mac had glanced at his watch and subsequently offered to buy her dinner, as they had to ride back home together anyway. Stella had readily agreed.

And so they sat there, ordered, ate—Stella stealing a few bites of his food, him doing the same to hers, an old, well-established habit by now in their over-twenty-year friendship—and chatted comfortably, laughing and smiling constantly.

They kept glancing at each other, something there in their eyes beyond the warmth and quiet, well-worn affection of friendship trying to break free, if only they'd let it. But neither would. It wasn't their way. Still, any observant person in the diner, or passerby by on the sidewalk who glanced in the window, could see how well they knew each other, how obviously close they were and how openly the two basked in each other's company.

Finally, after hours of sitting there, they knew they needed to get back and, reluctantly, they stood. Mac offered Stella the keys to the Avalanche and told her he'd pay the bill and meet her outside.

She grabbed the keys from his hand and paused, smiling at him as she gently nudged him with her shoulder. "Seems like old times again, doesn't it?"

He'd grinned and nodded, green eyes twinkling, tacitly agreeing with her.

She exited the building out into the sultry summer evening, contentment from the good food and wonderful company buzzing inside her, and started towards the parking lot. The street was pretty quiet for that time of night. The diner was near a residential area and a lot of small business owners lived nearby. It seemed they had mostly all closed for the night.

Stella extracted herself from the happy thoughts entangling her to observe this fact and cast her gaze around. The street was murky and eery, and Stella shivered involuntarily. It'd been awhile since she'd been in Jersey, and maybe being in unfamiliar stomping grounds made her a little more wary.

She was almost to the car when, suddenly, she heard the unmistakeable popping sound of two bullets being fired from a gun with a silencer close by. She jerked to a stop, cop instincts kicking in, aware she had left her gun in the Avalanche, along with her badge. Plus, she didn't know what exactly was going on, how many people were involved or even precisely where they were right then.

Carefully peering around in the darkness in the direction where she thought she'd heard the shots come from, Stella tried to pinpoint where the best place would be to hide while you murdered someone.

Squinting, she thought she made out a shadowy figure and the fiery orange glow of burning tobacco in the darkness of an alley across the street, diagonal from the diner's parking lot. And then, she saw something that made her heart drop to the ground.

"No..." she murmured.

The figure had shifted slightly closer to the outer edge of the alley, scanning around. It was a face she recognized.

Just then, a large, firm hand grabbed her shoulder from behind, and she jumped.

"You okay, Stell? Why aren't you in the car?" Mac questioned.

"Holy crap, Mac! Why don't you warn a girl before sneaking up on her like that, huh?" She was trying to catch her breath, calm her erratic pulse.

Mac placed a warm, familiar hand on the lower curve of her back, looking concerned. This wasn't like her. She was pretty tough. Knowing her for so long, trusting her instincts, he knew something was up. Patiently, he waited for her to relax and tell him what had happened.

"Mac, look," she quietly asserted, her pulse still beating quickly. She pointed to a place across the way, and he barely made out the figure of a man in chiaroscuro. Walking a little closer, Stella following, he peered more scrupulously into the inky darkness. Then, abruptly, his eyebrows shot up in surprise.

"I—is that—?"

"It's Tom."

Stella was about to tell him the rest, tell him what she'd heard from that direction, but before she could, Mac had already started jogging towards him, smiling. "Tommy!" he called out.

"Mac! Wait! ...Mac!"

Stella tried to stop him, but it was an exercise in futility. He was a quick man, always had been, and he was already almost across the street before she caught up with him.

"Tommy!" Mac called to his friend again, unsure why he hadn't acknowledged him. Wondering if he hadn't yet quite made out who was addressing him. Mac had just made it to the edge of the darkened alley, face to face with Tom, when he caught a look in his old buddy's eyes that instantly put him on alert.

At that same moment, Stella caught up with him and put a hand on the side of his arm. "Mac..." Stella paused, trying to catch her breath.

"Mac, Stell. You shouldn't be here." A flicker of what Mac realized was cold dread crossed his old buddy's face, quickly suppressed, a mask of calm there replacing it. Anyone who hadn't known him for as long as Mac had, would've easily missed it.

"What do you mean? We were just having dinner over there, and Stell—"

And, all at once, both he and Stella noticed the rest of the grisly scene splayed out behind Tom.

A little further down the alleyway, obscured at first by darkness, two men were standing holding guns with silencers next to a fresh kill. As far as Mac could make out, the victim had been badly beaten and then shot, execution style, in the head. A dark pool of glistening blood made a macabre, hellish halo at the base of the lifeless head. The vic's eyes were still open, unnaturally widened with horror.

When he look back up, the two men had already lifted their guns from their sides, aiming menacingly at himself and Stella. Surprised, Mac sputtered, "Tommy, what the hell is going on?"

Instantly, in response, they both sensed the hard, blood curdling feel of the steel barrel of a gun pressed to the base of each of their skulls and froze.

"I was about to ask the same thing," a forceful, unfamiliar voice retorted near Mac's ear. "Tommy, who are these people? And why does this guy have a—" The man standing behind him pulled Mac's Glock from its side holster. "—gun on him?"

Luckily, Mac had left his badge in the Avalanche, like Stella, or Mac knew they would've just seen their last moments on earth.

"Take it easy, Gianni, they're from my old 'hood. They're okay. We grew up together. Boosted a lot. Strictly small time stuff. Nothin' like now."

Mac and Stella realized at the same time that they'd stepped into something big and tried to remain as quiet and still as possible—let Tommy do the talking.

Gianni, who seemed to be in charge, and the other guy behind Stella kept the guns to their heads, unmoving.

"C'mon, Gianni. They're friends of mine. You know me. I vouch for 'em. They won't rat you out to tha cops."

After another several, interminable moments, Gianni finally, roughly and abruptly, lowered his weapon, and the other man followed suit. Then they walked around to look at Stella and Mac in their faces. Mac didn't miss the appreciative way the other guy, not Gianni, slowly scanned Stella from head to toe, practically undressing her with his dark, lecherous eyes, and he clenched his jaw, but didn't move.

"Friends, huh?"

"Yeah, Gianni. Good friends. Old friends. Haven't seen them in years. But they've always been trustworthy."

Gianni looked, and sounded, relaxed, in control. He was definitely the boss, Mac figured. Both he and Stella also knew that Tommy must be undercover on a job. This surprised them, because last they had both heard, he was a desk jockey now. Which is why the thought never occurred to them, when they saw him across the street, that he might be working a case.

"This one's a beauty, Tommy. They together?" the leering slime-ball said caressingly. Mac brought his eyes back to the dirtbag who had just nakedly appraised Stella like she was Playmate of the Month. _Great, this situation just keeps gettin' better and better_, Mac thought to himself, his jaw now titanium-hard with tension.

"Last I heard, they were still just real good friends. Not for nothin', Sal, but you might ask the _lady_ herself." Tommy emphasized the word lady pointedly, but still managed to sound respectful.

Sal put a hand on her shoulder, massaged there a little, causing Stella to shudder slightly, and addressed her. "Hey, babe. How 'bout it? You and this goombah here together?"

Mac twitched, itching to get his hands on the thug pawing Stella, but knowing he couldn't. Unfortunately for him, Sal saw.

"We're friends. Close friends. But just friends," Stella answered truthfully, wanting to be anywhere but there, right then.

Sal brought his hand with the gun in it up and placed it on her other shoulder, his mouth hovering over her ear. "You are somethin' else, ya know that, honey? Tight body, beautiful face, you remind me of an ex I used ta have."

Mac tried to stay still, fists clenched so hard at his sides that his knuckles had paled, but it didn't matter. He'd already betrayed himself. Sal was a lot of things—many of them bad—and one of those qualities he had was that he liked to get under people's skin. Only people who couldn't take him on, he was also cowardly, but he thrived on the feeling. It gave him a perverted sense of power.

This situation, for him, was a double bonus. He was genuinely attracted to Stella. And Sal's knowing eyes had seen the flinch Mac had betrayed himself with earlier when he'd touched her. He could practically see the wrath oozing out of every pore of Mac's body and swirling around in his eyes, controlled, but there, and he relished it.

Mac was itching to tear the man away from Stella and break him apart. The only thing holding him back was their imminent death. _The son of a bitch might be a fool_, he thought, _but his boss isn't_. Mac had been watching him during this exchange, when he could, surreptitiously. The man was watching them, too, calculating, making a decision about their lives and whether he would allow them to keep them.

Mac's assessment of Gianni was right. Gianni knew they were witnesses to a murder, and he wasn't sloppy, or stupid; he wasn't going to let them out of there alive unless he knew for sure they wouldn't spill their guts to the cops.

Gianni had gotten his fill of watching Sal press their buttons. He wanted to get down to business, get out of there. "Why are your friends from your old neighborhood here?" He looked up at Tom. "Not that I don't trust you, Tommy, but I gotta be real careful. You haven't seen them for years, and all the sudden, they turn up here right now? You know what we have in the works."

"We're actually between jobs at the moment. Mac and I came here to scope out a potential mark. We're staying at a hotel close by," Stella told Gianni calmly.

"The job was a bust, though. Security's too tight. Couldn't chance it. We were just having some dinner across the street before we went back to the hotel. Planned on leaving tomorr—" Mac continued.

"No."

Tommy shifted a little at Gianni's declaration. "Come on, Gianni. I don't want to see you take out two old friends of mine just for happenin' ta run into me. I told you, they're legit. They won't say nothin' about tonight. Don't you trust me, man?"

"Tommy, you know I'm fond of you. You've proven yourself to me. You're probably the smartest guy here besides me, but I still gotta be careful. So, in deference to you, I'll give 'em an 'offer they can't refuse.'" Gianni paused and smirked at his _Godfather_ reference. "Here's how it is: since I have this big deal goin' down soon that'll make us all, I happen to know the Feds have been sniffin' around. I can't afford to take a chance. And I won't. So, they can extend their stay, seein' as they're in between jobs at the moment... They can stay with you."

"What about—" Tommy began.

He held up a hand, forestalling any argument.

Gianni hated to be questioned. He gave his favorite, Tommy, a little more leeway than the rest, but Tom could only push it so far, and he knew it—knew there was nothing else to say, that they were lucky they were still alive right then.

"They can stay with you. Help out a little. If I see I can trust them, then maybe I take 'em in. I can always use a good guy. But if not..." Gianni shrugged and held up his gun. "I'll have to take 'em out. You know how it is, Tommy. But I'll give 'em a chance, for you." Gianni clasped one of Tom's shoulders in his hand and shook it twice, willing him to relax. Tommy was a good guy, in his estimation, one of the few he really planned to take with him when he made it back in.

"Okay, sure, Gianni. I understand." Tom knew exactly how he had to play it with Gianni. So he went along.

"We gotta beat it the hell outta here. Been here too long already, thanks to your friends droppin' in. Let's go."

The two men down the alley safed their guns and stuffed them into the backs of their pants.

Sal eyed Stella some more, smiling salaciously at her. She steadfastly ignored him, as Mac counted down backwards from ten in his head—a calming exercise he'd learned long ago.

"Tommy?" Gianni paused and waited for Tom to turn back towards him.

"Yeah?"

"You and Big Tony ride with these two. Show 'em where you live. Wouldn't want them getting lost on the way."

"Sure thing, boss."

Big Tony and Frank, Mac and Stella were to learn later, were the other men's names. Mac watched them police their brass and walk up the alleyway to exit. Gianni glanced around, made sure it was clear and then slowly, casually exited the alleyway, motioning for the group behind to accompany him.

Tom quietly followed Mac and Stella to the Avalanche. No one spoke a word. By the time they all got to the parking lot, and to Mac's car, the trio were alone. Big Tony was at another vehicle getting instructions from Gianni, who looked pointedly their way, as they all entered the truck.

"What the hell did we stumble into, Tom?" Mac questioned his old pal, after they all got in and the doors were closed.

He grabbed Stella's gun (Gianni had kept his) and their badges and hurriedly stowed them away in a compartment he had under the driver's seat rug.

"I'll tell you all about it when we get ta my place. If we make it... Here comes Big Tony."

* * *

The foursome stayed quiet, the radio was on quietly giving background noise to the uncomfortably thick tension in the car the entire ride over to Tom's place. A black SUV followed them. Gianni and the other two, Mac presumed, were their escorts.

When they finally arrived at Tom's 'home' (Mac and Stella both knew where his real home was, knew his family, had had dinner with them on countless occasions over the years), a small, yellow house in a modest Jersey neighborhood, they got out, and Gianni pulled up after them. He exited his vehicle and drew Tom aside, talking quietly with him, while Mac and Stella waited tensely on the porch.

Big Tony, a large, quiet, balding, grey-haired man, with dark grey brows, stood by the door of Gianni's vehicle, smoking, waiting for further instructions from his boss.

Finally, after what seemed an infinite amount of time, Gianni slapped Tom, who nodded, on the back, and they parted ways. Gianni walked to his SUV and signaled for Big Tony to get in. Big Tony complied. Then he threw a curt nod, unsmiling, towards the porch at Mac and Stella and got in his black SUV, driving off shortly thereafter.

Tom joined Mac and Stella on the porch and got his keys out for the front door.

"Is it okay now?" Mac inquired, glancing around.

Tom waited until they entered the house and closed the door behind them before directing them to the couch and responding. "For now. I barely convinced him not to have Sal stay to help keep an eye on things. But he told me if either of you two goes missin', it'll be my neck on the block. And he means it."

Stella grimaced.

Tom plopped his jangly keys on a little table by the entryway and followed the two towards the couch. "Now, I know you two have a ton of questions, but let me get a beer before I fill you in. I'm parched. You two want anything?"

They both declined, and Tom hurried into the kitchen for the beer, so as not to prolong their wait.

* * *

After Tom had quickly filled them in, he'd made up the spare room for Stella, offered Mac his room, which Mac refused, grabbed Mac some extra linen and a pillow for the couch, and then had gone to bed in exhaustion.

At that moment, Mac lay on the couch with his hands folded behind his head on his new makeshift bed, and he stared up at the unfamiliar ceiling recalling the evening's events after Tom came back in the room. He had nothing better to do since his infernal insomnia was acting up as usual. Though, after the day they'd had, it wasn't exactly surprising. What _was_ surprising was how life had thrown the three of them some crazy curve balls in their lives, but this had to be the craziest.

Tom and Mac had first met as new recruits in the Corps, at boot camp. They'd trained together and had served on the same fireteam, becoming fast friends. And, when they both had ended their tours in the Marines, they had decided to become cops. And again, they'd gone through training together there. But, after that, they had been assigned partners. Both served their rookie years with excellent veteran cops. Afterwards, Tom got paired with Jerry, and Mac had gotten Stella.

Stella had fit in with the two old friends seamlessly. The three spent a lot of time together off the job. They treated her like their kid sister, and their wives, and Tommy's kids all loved her as well. She was such a warm, kind, generous and truly genuine person, it was hard for anyone to dislike her. Meanwhile, over time, Stella had been promoted from 'kid sister' to 'just plain sister' for Tom, and best friend for Mac, after Tom became too busy.

Shortly after their conversation at lunch that hot summer day, Tom had left to train at Quantico. All three kept in touch, of course. But they all had busy lives. Mac had had Claire and his new job as a forensic scientist, working hard and eventually moving up the ladder to head the lab. Stella had her job, moving up as well, and her friends, including her close friendship with Mac and Claire. Tom had his wife, Maggie, and, eventually, five kids and the job—which, it turned out, he excelled at.

Tom had been a great undercover agent. And would often, necessarily, be undercover on a job for years at a time. This made for times few and far between to get to be with his family, let alone visit old friends. But Mac and Stella did see him on occasion, and they'd kept in touch with his family. Christmas cards and gifts were exchanged every year and both had always been there if Tom's wife, or his kids, needed anything, which wasn't often.

Tom had told them that he'd been happy to be out of the field, riding a desk, seeing his family more, with better pay and hours—when a new job came up. It had to do with a prominent New York crime family, the Reinas, and a small time drug dealer, who turned out to be Gianni. Tom had tragically lost one of his sons to drugs several years ago and the drug dealer had been a distributor of the Reina family, who, thus far, had been untouchable.

So, for Tom, it was personal. He wanted a piece of this family, needed to take down as many as possible, in memory of his son. And since he was one of the best, he knew it'd be hard for anyone to refuse him.

In the past, he'd been transferred, after a few short term undercover jobs, out of New York, which was why he could pull off the operation now without being recognized. He hadn't done any long term ops in New York or Jersey. After that, he'd been transferred to Virginia, then DC. He'd excelled every time and gotten transferred back to New York, after a promotion to SA Supervisor in Charge, to run operations.

Therefore, he'd gotten what he wanted so badly—to work the operation to take out the Reina family. He had now been undercover on this job for three years, three years which Stella and Mac had inadvertently almost blown that night.

The Feds hadn't known there was to be a kill that evening. Neither had Tom. It had been intended on just being a severe interrogation. But because Gianni had confirmed that the guy had been skimming off the top, and had been feeling particularly pressured lately, his tether had been tense and had snapped, and he'd had him murdered. Tom had been trying to figure out what to do from there when he'd been interrupted by Mac and Stella stumbling onto the scene.

Mac didn't know where they would go, or what would happen to them after being thrust into this situation. They had jobs and lives waiting for them to get back to in New York. But, at the moment, they had no choice but to stay. Tom had reassured them by telling them that he had a meeting set up with his contact agent the next day. He'd bring them along, find out how the Feds wanted to play it. Maybe they could extract them safely. Tom had never had this happen before, and he wasn't sure.

So, they had to wait till tomorrow to learn their fate.

Mac was still amazed at how much had changed in their lives since the beginning, when they were so young and naive. One thing that wouldn't change though, was that he and Tom would always be brothers, after what they'd seen and endured together. They had both went into the Corps as young, fresh, soft recruits and came out of combat forever changed. It's what it did to everyone.

Little did he know that he and Stella had just been plunged into another war of a different type. One he hadn't really volunteered for this time. And that, like most wars would have it, there would be scars and blood and death—and nothing would ever be the same.

"_Falling too fast to prepare for this_

_Tripping in the world could be dangerous_

_Everybody circling, it's vulturous_

_Negative..." _

\- Imagine Dragons, "Whatever It Takes"


	3. Chapter 2

Hey, guys!

Hope everyone's doing well this weekend. :) I wanted to say a few things before we dig into the next chapter:

First of all, to _**KSPerry**_: thank you so much for taking the time to write a review for both chapters, and to point out something you particularly liked. A kind, encouraging review like yours makes a big difference. :)

Also, I did a lot of research on this to make it more accurate. So, the mafia stuff and the Fed stuff is all pretty close to reality. Though, I did take some artistic license when I felt the story needed it. In this chapter, you'll see a bit of that research. The things agents have to do to be in a long term undercover job are plethorous and disruptive to their lives.

And, I see, from the story stats, that a lot of people are reading this, and that makes me happy. I love sharing a mutual love of this series and/or couple with you. :)

Lastly, this chapter is the final one that sets everything up before we start getting into the operation. This story has a mix of genres that hope will suit many tastes. It has some action, adventure, romance, hurt/comfort, drama, suspense and a bit of humor.

Hope you enjoy this next installment.

* * *

**Chapter Two**

"_It is good to have an end to journey toward;_

_but it is the journey that matters, in the end." _

\- Ursula K. Le Guin, "The Left Hand of Darkness"

The next day, Tom, Mac and Stella all left the house early, picked up some hot coffee and fresh bagels and then headed off to Montclair Art Museum, for the meet with Tommy's contact agent, Scott.

When they arrived, still a bit early, they looked around the place taking in the art. They chatted and joked, as old friends do, and sipped the remainder of their coffee. But in the background, the tension of not really knowing what was coming next in their lives hummed like the sharp buzz of a live wire. Later, in the corner of a white-walled room, by a particularly interesting Neo-Classical painting, Tom's contact agent spotted them and walked up to the trio.

The man looked to be in his mid-fifties, had slate grey hair, obviously had served before, Mac noted, from his high and tight, military-style cut, and was neatly dressed in an immaculate navy blue suit, with a tasteful tie, striped diagonally with dark red and silver lines. He greeted Tommy familiarly and extended his hand to Mac, and then Stella, shaking their hands firmly.

"Nice to meet you. You know, you two almost gave me and the guys in surveillance a heart attack when you busted in on Tom and Gianni and his guys last night."

"Yeah, I can understand why," Stella agreed.

Mac merely grimaced in response.

"You're lucky we happened to be there, and that we already had a meet set up for today. We don't usually surveil Tom, safer that way. But we knew somethin' big might go down last night. Tommy sensed it and called it in."

"How did you—" Mac questioned.

But Scott anticipated him, and replied, before Mac could finish, "We discreetly followed, briefly, just to get your plates and run 'em."

"I see...so, what's the play here, Scott? What are our options?" Mac queried further.

Scott rubbed the back of his neck and paused a moment, casting his eyes to the ground and then back up at them. He was an old hand at this, had been doing it for over two decades—was as good as Tom was at what he did. In fact, what had made them an outstanding team on undercover assignments, and therefore the ones carefully chosen for this job, was that the two were amongst the best in the Bureau at what they did, and they both excelled as a team.

Tom was an instinctive undercover man, he just had the natural talent. You couldn't buy or train that into a person, they just were, or weren't, undercover material. And Tom was highly intelligent, knowledgeable, quickly adaptive, amiable, charming, and able to get in with almost anyone, if he had the time and opportunity.

For his part, Scott was a long time veteran of the FBI, nearing retirement age in a couple more years. He had seen, and had thrown at him, almost everything a guy in his job could witness and have to deal with. He possessed excellent organizational skills, was also very smart and swiftly adaptive. And, what he hadn't known, as a young, eager agent, he'd learned over decades of being battle-tested. Sometimes things went wrong, most times he could fix it and still make it work. He got that from an innate resilience and tactical instinct, but even then, some things you just had to learn from experience, that was the only way.

And he'd learned. Sometimes, as was inevitable in life, the hard way.

Experience had taught him to anticipate and be ready for all sorts of twists and snags being thrown your way. That's why you had a plan, but had to be ready at a moment's notice to adapt...this wasn't the first time he'd had someone stumble into an operation who knew the operative. Unfortunately, that poor bastard ended up six feet under and mucked up an eleven month job in the works. When it happened, it had taught Scott a valuable lesson, and he made sure he never forgot it.

In these circumstances, normally, they would've pulled Tom off the job after they'd found out about the kill, would have also taken in Mac and Stella. But this was an incredibly important operation. The man Gianni killed was a low-level, over-ambitious dealer. He was a single man, had no family who would miss him. And while Gianni (and his men, as accomplices) would eventually pay for the murder that night, he had _much_ more to pay for. And, even more importantly, he was their ticket to bringing down the Reina family.

Gianni Reina was connected, but not a wiseguy. He had screwed up and been kicked out of his own family's good graces. But he'd been working for years, past bitterness and disgrace, on his way back in. He was a small-timer, but he had big plans, knew he was 'destined for greatness,' he just had to get the 'idiots in power' to see his potential, too.

And he'd finally found a way. Was working on crafting a lucrative business deal, a merger, of sorts, between two boss families in Jersey and NY, one of those being the Reina family, using a scam which, if he could make it work, would bring in lots of extra cash for both bosses, and for Gianni, his reward would be a ticket back into the family.

Scott and Tom were so close. Soon after the merger, they'd have enough to do, not just a takedown of the Reina family, but of many in the Jersey family tied in with the merger. It would be the biggest bust of organized crime in FBI history.

That was everything that was riding on this job. And with it being so near to completion, to scrap it now, unless it would cost something huge, would be the very definition of a travesty of justice.

Scott had personally looked into their backgrounds. He needed to know everything to be able to see _if_ he could implement them in the operation, and how. He had guessed, correctly, that if they were old friends of Tom's, that they'd be either ex-military, or cops.

Turned out (better than he'd dared hope), both were cops and had done a small amount of undercover work for the NYPD in their past, and had done good at it. They were now lab heads of their own CSI units. Which meant they were smart, organized and careful. Everything he'd found out about them indicated they could handle themselves deftly, with Tom guiding them. So, with some revision, they wouldn't have to scrap this op.

There was just too much at stake right now—years of work—and they only had mere _months_ left before it would all pay off and they would clean up major filth from off the streets, far-reaching filth that had their tentacles in all sorts of dirty schemes.

"I know you two wanna get out of this mess. But, considering the context, I would like to ask you two to stay in, lay low, play it cool and follow Tom's lead, for now. Don't make waves, or you'll get made."

Chagrin flickered across Mac's features.

Scott grimly stared him straight in the eye. "If I pulled you two out now, it would blow everything to hell. From reading your backgrounds, I firmly believe you can handle it. It's only a matter of a coupla months, maybe four, and this whole thing will be wrapped up."

_"Four months!"_ Stella and Mac ejaculated at the same time, eyes widened, mouths agape. The pair were, understandably, not exactly thrilled about this.

"Is there another option?" asked Mac.

Quickly rubbing a hand over his tired eyes, Scott sighed deeply. "Well, yes..."

The pair looked hopeful a moment, before reading the expression on Scott's face.

"It's not exactly one I think you'd like any better, though." He paused a moment, subtly surveilling the area (an old habit), grasping for the words. "Since Gianni has already seen you, knows your names—at least, your first names—and Tom is involved with you, vouched for you, we'd have to scrub entire the op, put you two, Tom and his family, and Reed" —Scott eyed Mac as he said this— "all in Witness Protection, relocate you, create new lives and identities for you."

Mac shook his head, muttering a quiet oath under his breath. Stella sighed and placed a calming hand on his arm.

"Those are our only options? A complete upheaval of our lives?" Stella asked, already knowing the answer, but needing to hear it again anyway.

"Afraid so. Either temporarily or permanently." He shoved a hand in his pocket and looked at the two commiseratingly.

Stella winced as Mac stood there tense, glowering.

Scott resumed, matter-of-factly, "These guys are nasty. You two don't work in Jersey, so I doubt they've ever heard anything about you—but you're cops. And if we just let you return back to your jobs as if nothing happened, even if Gianni accepted your disappearance, which, I doubt he would, and Tom wasn't killed before I pulled him out, and the whole op FUBARed, they'd be on the lookout for you, eventually find you, the people you love. Then, it'd be over."

"Can we discuss this a moment?" Stella inquired. Scott nodded and then she gently tugged at Mac's arm, pulling him to the side.

Tom and Scott began chatting quietly, Stella and Mac doing the same, frustration emanating off them in waves.

At length, they turned back to Tom and Scott, reluctant compliance in their demeanor.

Mac spoke first this time. "Well, I don't see that we have much of a choice here. It's better to just disrupt our lives temporarily than permanently. Plus, we'd be doing the FBI, and the innocent people of New York and New Jersey, a favor, at least." He was still visibly upset.

Stella questioned, unhappily, "So, what about our covers and our real lives now?"

"We've got that taken care of. Most of it's all set, just in case you accepted. Me and the crew have been working all night, and some today, to get things fixed up."

"You thought we'd agree?" Stella inquired, raising her eyebrows.

"Let's just say I hoped, big time, knowing your backgrounds, figuring you wouldn't want to lose your entire lives—I hoped. That's all."

Mac and Stella eyed each other in silent communication.

"I've overseen everything personally, to make sure there are no screw ups. And now all I have to do is make a few calls to finish setting everything else in motion." He started walking around the room, pretending to eye other pieces of art, didn't want to stay in one place too long. Not that he thought anyone was observing. They had lookouts and had chosen this spot carefully. He knew where Gianni and his boys were right then. But, one could never be too careful.

Mac, stiff as a board, and Stella, arms crossed in front of her, followed by Tom, hands stuffed in his pockets, followed and listened attentively to Scott.

"We've already informed Sinclair of the possibility of this eventuality. So, we'll call and confirm shortly. We'll erase you at your jobs. Make it seem like you've transferred. Put new agents in charge." He glanced at Mac knowingly. "Temporarily, of course, but no one but us and Sinclair will know this. Your co-workers and friends can't know where you are, or what you're doing, for their safety, and yours. We'll take you off the payroll files, have your desks and apartments, cleaned out—"

"How are you gonna handle the explanations to our lab co-workers? Some of them are our friends and they're not gonna buy that we just suddenly left without a word to any of them," Stella asked.

Scott nodded. "Sinclair mentioned something like that. Said he'd talk to them personally."

"Reed?" Mac added.

"I'll talk to him...just enough so he won't worry or say anything."

Mac frowned.

"I know. It blows; it's invasive and disruptive, but it's really the best way."

Tom slapped a hand on Mac's back, silently encouraging him.

Exasperation mixed with resignation rushed out in Mac's sigh. "Go on."

"We'll get you a new wardrobe, tailored to your new identities, place them with your new I.D.s in the hotel you're supposed to be staying at."

Mac looked at him quisitively.

"Tom told me, while you two were discussing your decision, the cover story you two gave while being put on the spot by Gianni. Quick thinking, by the way."

Mac nodded stoically, still absorbing everything.

"You are not to, under _any_ circumstances, contact _anyone_ from your former lives. We'll rework Mac's Avalanche today, new VIN, new tags, take Stella's gun, give you two unmarked, untraceable weapons. We'll also take your badges, freeze your old bank accounts, get new ones for you, enter in new criminal histories for you in the database, under your new last names, of course. And we'll keep an eye on Reed, and Tom's family, just in case we need to act quickly."

"So much," Stella murmured.

Scott nodded. "I know you two have worked several short-term undercover jobs, but long-term ops require a lot more depth, obviously. We have to establish identities for you two that will stand up under scrutiny, because they _will_ be checked. You're on the street now, and, as you know from before, until you prove yourself, no one will trust you."

"When do we pick up our I.D.s?" Mac asked.

"Today. Social security cards, credit cards, driver's licenses...wallet fillers, they'll all be there. Since you two are small time burglars, we have you two never staying put for long, no real ties, no family, that way it'll be easier, due to the way you were just thrown into this situation. We gotta keep it simple. If you had families, then we'd have to involve other agents out there to speak up for you."

The pair nodded, understanding, still feeling overwhelmed.

"We'll set up 'hello phones' for when anyone calls to check up on your past. You'll have to lie, of course, but keep it simple and as close to the truth as possible, the less you lie the less you have to remember. No instigating jobs, as you know, that's entrapment, only follow along. Pretty much, Tom will guide you. Gianni, if you earn his trust enough that he lets you stay, won't let you in too close anyway this late in the game. So, you shouldn't have to do much..."

* * *

Later that day, while Mac took his vehicle into a special FBI shop to get it reworked, Stella, according to their earlier instructions, took a cab to the hotel they had been 'staying at' and picked up their suitcases, containing their FBI-issued clothes, wallets, and other essentials.

As she did so, she noticed she was being followed, and it set her a bit on edge. Everything was just so surreal, and new and uncertain—she had no idea how this would all play out, and it made her uneasy.

"_...Every move you make,_

_Every step you take,_

_I'll be watching you..." _

\- Sting and the Police, "Every Breath You Take"


	4. Chapter 3

Hey, guys!

Hope this newest installment finds you doing well.:)

First of all, I wanna thank _**KSPerry**_ & _**Lily**_.

_**K**_: Thanks for your sweet, thoughtful words. You and **_Lily_** are great.:D I am humbly indebted to you for your kindness and generosity

I hope this doesn't spoil your enjoyment of the fic, but Jo and Flack aren't in it. As it's my first one ever, I was worried/nervous about even getting Mac and Stella right. I like to try to stay in character as much as possible, and while I've read a lot of _CSI: NY _fanfic, and therefore am very familiar with fanon, I needed to touch base with the other characters again to make sure I got them right canon-wise. But, I have already written this entire story out. It just has to be beta-ed, which I've been trying to do one chapter a week (as long as rl permits).

I will say, I already have story ideas for several more fics. Thus, I'm already working on another multi-chapter fic, and if this one does well, that is, if people seem to like it, then I will probably finish that one and post it after this one is done.

How that relates is: the other characters will be in it. I love all of the _CSI: NY_ crew. That's one of several things I think the writers did such a fantastic job on, creating multi-dimensional, likable characters.

I'm actually going through the series again, watching the show and taking a few notes so I can get the characters right. It's a joy for me because I've only seen the show through to season six once—and that was a binge watch on Netflix several years ago, when I discovered the series.

In fact, I just finished "Recycled," and I loved it. It made me laugh with its witty dialogue several times. I loved the humor, the acting, the cases were interesting, and I loved the Mac and Stella end. I enjoyed it so much, I actually looked up which writers wrote it. I do that when an episode is that good.

Anywho, the next story will have the entire crew in there. I already have five chapters written and Lindsay is already in two, Danny in one, and Jo in one. Though, I don't know much [read: almost nothing] about her character as I couldn't bring myself to watch the episodes after Stella left. I did treat her character with respect, as I like Sela and know the writers will have done a wonderful job sketching out her character as well. Plus, it's how I roll; there's no need to denigrate other characters. The others will be added as I get to them. Also, Angell is in there; I went against canon in this and kept her alive.

Dearest, sweet _**Lily**_, this fandom would be considerably dimmer without everything you bring into it. Also, it's funny you should say that about the ominous hints because I got the idea to do so from your fics, actually.

And, last but not least, a shout out to all the peeps who are reading this. The story stats only show me the countries of the people reading, and how many are reading, so, I can't thank you by name, but thanks to the beautiful peeps from the UK & US, and the awesome peeps from Brazil, Italy, Argentina, Poland, Belgium, Canada, Venezuela, Sweden and Germany... As I said before, this is a great show with wonderful characters, and it's great that the enjoyment of it transcends lines on a map.

And now, without further ado, submitted for your perusing pleasure, the next chapter.

* * *

**Chapter Three**

_"A good friend knows all your best stories,_

_but a best friend has lived them with you."_

\- Unknown

"_...Every step of the common journey tests his [your friend's] metal; and the tests are tests we fully understand because we are undergoing them ourselves. Hence, as he rings true time after time, our reliance, our respect and our admiration blossom into an Appreciative Love of a singularly robust and well-informed kind. If, at the outset, we had attended more to him and less to the thing our Friendship is 'about', we should not have came to know…him so well. You will not find the warrior, the poet, the philosopher or the Christian by staring in his eyes…better fight beside him, read with him, argue with him, pray with him._

_In a perfect Friendship this Appreciative Love is, I think, often so great and so firmly based that each member of the circle [of friends] feels, in his secret heart, humbled before all the rest. Sometimes he wonders what he is doing there among his betters. He is lucky beyond desert to be in such company."_

\- C.S. Lewis, _The Four Loves_

Mac, Stella and Tom all sat on the couch and easy chair, drinking coffee after dinner and chatting. It was Tom's turn to cook that night and so they'd had take out. Tom was a man of many talents, but cooking wasn't one of them, unless it was barbecue. The man could make the best barbecue in the five boroughs.

It was a week and a half later, and Mac and Stella had just started settling in a little more into their new roles in the op. It was jarring having everything in their lives upended. They both had discussed how they already missed their friends and co-workers. They also missed their favorite food joints, their beds, their clothes, their apartments, even their jobs.

Mac and Stella had gotten to know more about Gianni and his crew from Tom. They'd also roughly worked out a system for staying at the FBI-issued house. Mac and Stella alternated sleeping on the couch because there was only one guest bedroom, (Stella insisted, even though Mac protested), and the three alternated cooking, as well.

As for Gianni, they'd found out via Tom, through Scott, that he had indeed checked them out as best he could. Thus far, he'd let them stay unscathed. They hadn't had to do anything yet to prove themselves to him. So, all Mac and Stella could do was wait. This made them restless and a bit anxious. Tom still had his duties, of course.

But things were as comfortable as they could be, under the circumstances. Therefore, the three close friends sat there that evening speaking of innocuous things, sifting through old memories, spurts of laughter filling the room amongst the jokes and reminiscences. They conversed about their old days as rookie cops together, shared stories about Mac and Stella working together as CSIs, then, they started on Mac and Tom's time in the Corps.

Stella's eyes shone brightly and she leaned forward a little; she loved hearing these stories. It was a time before they knew each other, and sometimes, when the two stumbled on a story she actually hadn't heard, she got a little more insight into Mac, pre-cop. She got to see a side of Mac he rarely made explicit, that was always _im_plicit—like how honorable he was, or how very much he loved his country, and how proud he was of her. It took a special breed to volunteer to spill their blood for others, especially others they didn't know.

Mac was a man she admired enormously. She didn't idolize him. She knew him too well for that, knew well his flaws, as he knew hers. He was a workaholic, tended to lose himself in the job, become withdrawn and shut people out. He was grumpy sometimes, especially when he was tired, frayed at the brittle edges, then he could snap at you unfairly. He possessed a strange dichotomy of strength and frailty. The gut-wrenching tragedy of his past had damaged him, made him overly-cautious, except for when it came to his own life—with his own life he could be heart-crushingly self-sacrificial, unthinking of those he might leave behind.

He wasn't flashy like some men, creating a big, loud splash wherever they went. No, he was a man of simple tastes, quiet, extremely kind, endearingly humble, generous, steadfastly loyal, thoughtful, keenly observant, surprisingly funny, at times, and incredibly brave and wise. He was a man it took time to _really_ know. Even after knowing him so many years, knowing so many of his strengths and weaknesses, she found something new every year to respect about him.

Stella loved just watching his face when he talked of the old days with Tom. He appeared younger somehow, the crinkles around his eyes seemed softer, his grey-green eyes twinkled, his body relaxed, and he smiled more, when they talked of the old times.

Focusing back in on the conversation, seeing them smirk, clink their half-finished cups of coffee together and utter a 'rah!' with gusto, she couldn't help but grin.

"Yeah, those were good times, Big Mac," Tom said, then took a long gulp of his coffee.

Mac grunted in agreement.

"By the way, where did Mac get his nickname from? All this time, I've heard you call him that, but keep forgetting to ask," Stella wondered aloud.

At this, Tom's face perked up, a glimmer of glee brimming in his eyes. "You mean he never told you about the first time he got smoked?"

She shook her head, intrigued even more at Tom's exuberant countenance. Then she glanced over at Mac, seeing the obvious, good-natured chagrin on his face, though he didn't say anything, and rubbed her hands together. "This oughta be good," she said cheerily.

The only response from Mac was a roll of his eyes.

"Well, back in boot camp, we had an excellent drill instructor. Gunny Vasquez was his name. The guy was tough, very tough, but fair, and an excellent Marine. He was one of those men that inspired those under him to willingly go to hell and back with him."

"Yeah, I know a guy like that," Stella replied, eyes still trained on Tom.

Though he remained quiet, Mac's cheeks reddened, betraying him. All three knew she was referring to Mac and how his people felt about him.

"The first day we got there, Mac and I were in our barracks. Young Mac was on his bunk devouring a Twinkie he'd smuggled in his luggage, when Gunny Vasquez walked in ta introduce himself to his newest recruits. Gunny was a big man with magnificent vocal cords. When he barked, 'Hut!' Mac and I jumped from our bunks and stood in formation. Unfortunately, Mac still had his Twinkie in his hand, and he was at the beginning of the line. When Gunny got all up in his face and started yellin', Mac promptly dropped it...right on Gunny's shiny, pristine boot. Yellow, crumbly cake and cream filling sat there smeared on his otherwise immaculate shoes." Tom smirked at the memory.

The flush on Mac's face spread.

"Gunny was _pissed_. He kicked the Twinkie off his shoe and rolled off a string of expletives like I've never heard before or since. He asked what Mac's name was, then jabbed him in the stomach, _hard_, called him 'soft and sloppy as a Big Mac.' Mac doubled over. Took all he had not ta toss his cookies right there at Gunny's feet. It was only fear of pissin' Gunny off _more_ that kept it in."

"Ugh!" Stella groaned.

"Yeah, after that, Gunny ordered Mac to drop and give him push-ups, made him do ten minutes' worth, then, instead of evening chow, he got incentive training. And he made little Big Mac here his personal project from then on. Went a little harder on him than the others." Tom shrugged. "But, it ended up they became great pals later. Gunny was just that sorta man."

"I can't _believe_ you never told me that story, Mac."

Bright red, his mouth twisted wryly, Mac finally broke his silence. "Gee, I wonder why."

Gently patting his stomach, she smiled inextinguishably.

"What's so funny?" he questioned, a dangerous gleam in his eye now.

"Come ta think of it, looks like you've regressed back to those days. Gettin' a little soft there, bud. Gunny'd be real ashamed."

Stella chortled merrily, ignoring the warning look in Mac's eyes.

"Think it's funny, Bonasera?" Mac queried.

She sniggered some more, nodding, and stood, ready to go refill her coffee. Looking down at him, eyebrows raised in mock sincerity, she sassed back, "Oh, Mac, you may be a little older, but you have _nothing_ to worry about. I'm sure you're just as in shape as you ever were—pushing pens and papers around endless nights on the job." She deliberately, patronizingly patted his arm and smirked.

"Geriatric paper pusher. Heh, good one, Stell."

"Like you have room to talk. Remind me what were you doin' before this op, Tom?" Mac retorted.

His old Marine buddy ignored him, smiling smugly, and held his large hand up in the air.

After giving Tom a high five, Stella turned to grab her coffee mug—when Mac abruptly pounced springing from the couch and grabbing her arm, causing her to yelp in surprise as he picked her up and slung her over his shoulder. "Paper pusher, eh?"

She laughed playfully and lightly beat on his back with her fists, wiggling around. Inside, her heart beat a little faster at how openly flirtatious he was being, something rare for him. Outwardly, she threatened, "Put me down, Taylor, or so help me..."

Mac lifted his shoulders up in a half-shrug, one palm facing the ceiling, one hand supporting Stella carefully, and twisted his body to the left and to the right, as if searching the room for something. "You hear somethin', Tom?"

Stella giggled again and squirmed. "I mean it, Mac."

Mac winked at Tom, who wore a broad smile at the display the two close friends were putting on, flashing back to himself and Maggie as a young couple.

Finally, she smacked his bum, and he slapped hers back. Her eyes widened and her mouth dropped open, and Mac, knowing without seeing that he'd shocked her, grinned triumphantly.

Just then, Gianni, Big Tony and Sal entered.

Sal, upon seeing the two, snarked, "Well, ain't you two adorable."

The place filled up with tension, as the easy joviality swiftly sucked out of the room. Mac gently put Stella down and faced Gianni and his boys. _Game time_, he thought.

Gianni gestured for Tom to come over for a brief _tête-à-tête_, and Tom complied, leaving the other two standing there with Mac and Stella.

Stella saw Sal slowly scanning her up and down lasciviously, and remarked, dryly, to Mac, "Well, I'm gonna go get more coffee. Want some?"

Mac shook his head, burning a hole through Sal with his eyes, broad arms folded.

Picking up her mug, she started for the kitchen, all three men's eyes watching her lovely figure retreat.

After she'd gone, Sal sucked in a loud, sharp breath. "_Damn_, that is one sexy woman. You two ever...?" Sal deliberately goaded him by making a crude pumping action with his fist.

Mac, his demeanor distant and cold, retorted, "She's a good friend, like a sister to me," his ire already visibly up.

Sal responded, knowingly, "Yeah right. I have two sisters, and I ain't _never_ looked at them tha way you look at her. Maybe you're just coverin' because she's way too good for a guy like you, eh?"

Mac stood there, counting in his head, aching to sock the dickwad.

Sal took a step closer to Mac, enjoying himself. "Turned ya down, didn't she? She wouldn't turn me down, though. Women can tell _I'm_ tha real deal."

"Why don't you try asking her out then, Sal, see how far you get?" Mac threw out sarcastically.

Sal faltered a moment, then regained his swagger. "Maybe I will...if I can get your mom to stop callin' me up, beggin' for it, every night."

Big Tony stepped up at that, and stated, "If you two would tuck your dicks back in your pants, we could sit down. And, for da record, she's too good for both o' you."

Mac couldn't argue with that. Sal just snorted, and the trio went to sit down, awaiting Gianni and Tom.

After he'd finished with Tom, they came over to the couch and chairs and sat. Gianni didn't want Stella there, so he asked her to leave when she came back out of the kitchen. And she acquiesced without comment, which suited Mac just fine.

Gianni sat on the couch, completely at ease, like he owned the place. His arms were spread out on the back of the couch, his leg crooked loosely on his other knee. Scanning the motley group around him, he began, "So, Mac, it seems you and your girl are legit. And, even more important, Tom here vouches for you."

Mac, face expressionless, merely nodded.

"Because of this, I'm gonna do you a favor, bring you into my crew. I don't really need Stella. I don't use women, typically. Though she may come in handy here and there, _you're_ the one I'm interested in, at the moment. If you work out, and that's a big if, 'cause it looks like you two are involved in a bunch of candy ass shit, nothin' big time, so I gotta see how you handle yourself with bigger responsibility. But _if_ you work out, Stella can't go where you're goin'."

Sal snorted derisively at this, and Gianni shot him a look, effectively silencing him.

"Tomorrow night is your first test. A rival dealer is tryin' ta cut in on my turf. I don't like it. So, I'mma send him a message."

Mac sat there stiffly, muscles tensed in a thousand knots, listening to Gianni's plans.

"This dealer, this..._punk_, Mario Roselli, has a stash comin' in tomorrow evenin'. Just so happens I know when and where it's gonna arrive. You and a few of the boys are gonna go down there and steal the stash, then destroy it."

Mac knew why Gianni didn't want to keep any of his rival's stash and re-package and sell it. Tom had informed him that Gianni had access to purer, higher quality heroin. Hits of his stuff went for a higher price than normal.

At first, Gianni had planned to expand, as demand was high for his merchandise and business was booming. But, he felt that being a drug dealer was too small a game for a guy like himself. To him, it was petty street thug stuff. What he really wanted was to get back in the family, be promoted to where he felt he should be. He wanted to show the guys who'd kicked him out—his uncle, who'd dishonored him—that he was a money maker, show them what a huge mistake they'd made tossing him out. And he'd finally found a way to do that. But, until he could fully implement his plan, he still had to support himself.

Just then, Stella re-entered the room and everyone quieted, their eyes on her.

"Sorry, just came for a book I left in here. Won't be long."

Gianni continued, unconcerned, giving details about the robbery the next night, but Mac couldn't focus right then because Sal, who sat to the left of him, started appraising her like an expensive, new Italian sports car he was foaming at the mouth to buy. He nudged Big Tony, raked his eyes over Stella, and gave him a meaningful look. Big Tony just shook his head and went back to listening to Gianni. Mac noted all this and started getting irrepressibly irritated.

He observed Sal, practically salivating, watching her smoothly cross to the other side of the room, his fascinated eyes on her long, shapely legs, encased in red leggings, revealing too much to a slime-ball like Sal. Then Stella bent to grasp a book from a pile underneath a low side table, and Sal shifted to get a better look, leering appreciatively at the sight of her bottom.

Mac was starting to get seriously vexed by Sal's behavior to a lady, in general, and to Stella, in particular. He also had had the effect of sharply prodding at Mac's latent feelings of possessiveness and protection, making them well up uncontrollably, feelings he usually had firmly in check, which only served to further antagonize him.

Just then, Sal noticed that Mac had spotted what he was up to and, just to provoke him further, nodded his head toward her and jiggled his eyebrows in her direction. Then he rolled his eyes in the back of his head, bit his lower lip and subtly made the pumping gesture again.

Mac's jaw clenched tightly. He'd had it and was about to say something to Sal, when suddenly, seemingly out of nowhere, because they were both so focused on their quiet war and Stella, Sal got the back of his head slapped by Gianni.

"Head in tha game here, Sal."

Mac didn't bother to smother his grin in response.

After that, Stella left the room and Mac brought his attention back to the instructions Gianni was giving them, and him, for the next night to prove himself—and, therefore, to keep himself and Stella alive.

"_...The treacherous are ever distrustful..." _

\- J.R.R. Tolkien, _The Two Towers_


	5. Chapter 4

Hey, peeps, hope you've all had a good day today!:)

_**K**_: Thanks so much, sweetie. I'm so happy you liked it. That's what makes all the hard work worthwhile. Yep! I particularly enjoyed writing that moment. LOL Oh, Sal _is_ trouble, so is Gianni... You'll see... ;) Btw, just from your last two comments I get the sense that you have a good, creative, imaginative mind. I love the idea of a twist with Gianni. I think maybe you should be the one writing, not me.

One more thing: _Muito obrigado. Você é maravilhoso._

_**SchaMG**_: Thanks for leaving a comment, and thanks for the compliment. You are very much appreciated.:)

Thanks to _**Lily**_, _**SchaMG**_, _**RBGem8**_, and _**RAD092515**_ for the favorites. Even if a couple of you didn't review, just the fact that you favorited it really made my day. :)

Also thanks to _**KSPerry**_, _**Lily**_ and _**RBGem8**_ for the story follows, it means a lot.

And, to lovely _**Lily**_, a dentist appointment? Sorry to hear you had to endure that. But I'm happy to have been a part of cheering you up.:) It's all true, my dear.

First, Yay! I'm happy you liked it. Second, yeah, I like a mix in the fics I read (and, apparently, write), and I love fics with humor in them.

So, about that slap, I agree that under ordinary circumstances he wouldn't do it. I mean, can you see something like that happening between them on the show when Stella was still on there? LOL No. The writers didn't mean for them to be in love, but to just love each other as close friends. Would Mac just slap some random girl, or a co-worker, or any other friend on her bottom? No. Would he have done so to Peyton, Aubrey or Christine while they were dating? I believe it was definitely within his character to do so, off-screen (as we weren't privy to their day-to-day romantic or flirty moments, mostly).

That is why I put Stella and Mac in the position they are in. (As you said, within the context...) ;) The point is, they're at a different place in their lives now than they were all those years ago, there's a lot of water under the bridge. They're in close quarters, they were playing around, teasing, and it happened. And, since I am the writer of this fic, in this universe their love has grown to more than friendship, whether they've acknowledged it or not. Mac's a guy who's best friends with Stella, loves her and is attracted to her. I think around a girl he didn't know much about, but liked, he'd be more reserved, shy, awkward. But not with Stella; they have a very long history. After all this time, he's relaxed around her and knows her, knows how she will take things.

I want people to enjoy the flirting, the building romance, etc., along with every other piece of this story. Hopefully, they will. But, I enjoyed it as I wrote it. Since Mac and Stella never got together in the show, we never got anything like this (Though, Mac and Stella did have a few flirty moments here and there in canon that I'm seeing as I'm going through the series. And I've also seen him be flirty with girls he's liked in canon). That's one of the biggest reasons I wrote this in the first place, so I could give my fellow Mac/Stella shippers a lot of things they never got (and, apparently, in hindsight, had no real hope of getting) in the show.:)

About Mac having a lighter side, you know, I've noticed two things that I hadn't when I watched the show the first time through. One is, I always thought that Mac was more serious than he actually is. Yeah he's serious, disciplined, professional, etc., but he smiles way more than I remembered, smirks a lot at jokes, jokes around far more than I'd first realized, and he has a twinkle in his eyes a lot at humorous situations. Mac has a nice, fun sense of humor, which, because it was a bit more subtle, I hadn't noticed before.

The other thing was, I see a lot of great chemistry between Gary and Melina underneath their character portrayals. I noticed the chemistry before, which was why I would've liked to have seen them get together in the series. But I never noticed how much there was. It was probably because it wasn't written in.

While I'm taking notes, I'm examining all sorts of things, mannerisms, commonly used verbal expressions, character personality wonts... and they actually had really great chemistry, which is why my subconscious picked up on it originally.

To me, there's a difference between good chemistry and written chemistry played by good actors. It was obvious the writers were keeping them as just close friends. That was the writing side and the producer's intent, and they made it clear. But if the producers had decided to get them together they would've had a great onscreen couple on their hands because of that latent chemistry the actors had. IDK, you can tell Gary and Melina enjoyed each other, had a nice time working together, and that shone through in their performances.

Do we know why they wouldn't get them together, btw? Since I didn't watch the show when it was on air, I'm curious as to what the reasoning was. I mean, I never watched the original _CSI_ past season two (I didn't find the characters very likeable, so I tuned out), but they got Grissom and Sara together, didn't they? So, it wasn't a 'they work together' thing, was it? Because that seems contradictory. Were they afraid it would ruin the show? I hope not, because that's just a matter of good execution and the writers of this show could've done great with it.

Yep, Mac's emotions are bubbling... this is just the beginning.;)

Haha, well, anyone who's enjoying this fic can thank you that it was posted a couple of days earlier than planned. I'm going to be busy tomorrow and I'm not sure I'd have time to get it finished, so I worked on it today to make sure it was out in time. Happy early birthday, my dear.

For everyone else, this is somewhat a of a lighter chapter in the story, a bit more humorous. Well, at least I attempted it. I'm not as funny as Timothy J. Leigh and Zachary Reiter (the ones who wrote "Recycled"). How I wish I had their beautiful wit, but, alas, they are amazing and professional writers, with a great gift, and I can't hope to compare with that.

But, I hope this at least puts a smile on your lovely faces, readers. Oh, and I wanted to add a shout out/thank you to France and Spain, two new places where readers hail from. As well as saying thanks for returning.

One last thing, this is a T chapter. As I said before, guys, there's language, violence and physical intimacy in this fic. Which is why I rated it as I did.

Thanks for reading.:)

* * *

**Chapter Four**

_"There are terrible things in the world,_

_And they very often have human faces." _

\- Clive Barker

"_At the age of eleven or thereabouts women _

_acquire a poise and an ability to handle _

_difficult situations which a man, _

_if he is lucky, manages to achieve somewhere _

_in the later seventies."_

\- P.G. Wodehouse, _Uneasy Money_

Mac got home that night, sore and tired, mentally and physically. _What a day_, he thought exhaustedly. And it had been. He drug himself to the spare bedroom, checking it carefully, and seeing the bathroom darkened, he walked in, grabbed a towel from the shelf and closed the door.

After he'd stripped and gotten in under the hot, steaming spray, which started relaxing his sore muscles immediately, he began going over the events of the past seventeen hours as he soaped himself up.

_He'd started the morning with a nice, hot cup of coffee and a fresh, golden croissant from a batch that Tom had bought and left on the kitchen island before he'd gone with Gianni. _

_That had been the best part of the day._

_After he'd finished wolfing down the croissant, he'd brushed the flakey crumbs off his shirt and quickly took the last gulp of his coffee before rinsing the cup out, putting it in the dishwasher and heading out of the kitchen._

_Then he'd taken a quick glance at his watch—knowing that Big Tony and Sal were coming to pick him up soon to go over the plans more thoroughly for the robbery later that evening—and quietly, (he didn't want to wake Stella) entered the bedroom to grab a pair of socks from the bottom drawer of the dresser they shared._

_That's when it hit him._

_He'd been distracted and in a hurry, and so he'd only focused on the dresser and getting silently to it, and had just bent, opened the drawer and pulled out a clean pair of socks, when the bathroom door clicked open. He looked up, and then he saw her._

_Stella stood there, a periwinkle blue towel wrapped around her, hair up in another towel of the same color. Her utterly smooth, caramel-colored body had dewey droplets of water everywhere. Mac got a flash of perfect wet curves, long shapely legs and flushed cheeks. He saw her big green eyes widen in surprise, and then, to top it off, a small droplet of water slid slowly down between the center of the soft swells of her breasts and, well...he swallowed, hard, trying to stifle the intense attraction and embarrassment hitting him all at once. _

_He was trying as hard as he could not to act weird and freak her out. So, what did he do? He sharply slammed the dresser drawer right on his thumb. Mac grunted in pain and muttered an oath under his breath. _Way to go, idiot. Real slick. Now she _knows_ you're attracted to her, _he thought._

"_Mac, are you okay?" Stella asked, coming closer to him, one hand clutching her towel closed, the other reaching toward him in concern. Mac could smell her body wash and shampoo in the air. And then her soft hand touched his bare arm, and he felt like he was having a sensory meltdown. Several fantasies swiftly flashed in his mind, unbidden and unstoppable. He began shaking a little and his breathing quickened at her proximity._ Oh fuck, what kind of horrible person are you, Taylor? Thinking about Stella like that. She's gonna know and be freaked out.

_He needed to get out of there fast before he made an even bigger idiot of himself. Mac backed away from Stella with a deer-in-headlights expression, favoring his thumb—and smacked into the door jamb, bouncing slightly off of it. _Fuck! _he thought. By then, he was fervently hoping for a nice, high bridge to jump off of that night before having to come back home and ever face her again._

_At that point, Stella, who had been embarrassed too at first, then concerned, started seeing the humor in the situation for both of them. And she barely suppressed a grin, not wanting him to think the wrong thing._

_Mac, for his part, was studiously trying to avoid looking at her, or talking to her, and scurried the rest of the way out of the room._

_When he got out the door and into the living room, he plopped down on the couch, threw his head back and clamped his eyes shut, trying to stop his heart from thumping out of his chest, and calmed his breathing. As he heard the bedroom door quietly close, he felt like that was the closest to heaven and hell he'd ever been to at the same time._

_About ten minutes later, he heard a car rumble up in front of the house. _

Great, _Mac thought_, just what this day needs to make it better—Sal.

_He rolled his eyes, heaved a sigh of resignation, and pulled himself up from the couch. Composure back in place, he called out to Stella, "They're here, Stell. Be back later!" He then started toward the front door._

_Suddenly, Stella came out, wearing a bright pink romper, hair dried, soft curls brushing her shoulders, no makeup, and still looking mouth wateringly sexy and angelically beautiful. Mac swallowed. She came closer as he determined to play it cool. Stella, tactful as ever, didn't bring the events in the bedroom up. _

"_Will you be gone all day?"_

_Mac shrugged. "Probably."_

"_Okay."_

_Outside, Sal was honking his horn obnoxiously. _

_Mac grabbed his wallet from off the table by the door, stuffed it in his pocket, and walked outside, followed by Stella, who stayed on the porch._

_As Mac hurried down the steps to get in the back seat of Sal's cherry red convertible, Sal spotted Stella on the porch and nodded at her. _

"_Hey there, sexy. Goin' my way?" He snickered. Stella rolled her eyes, and Mac closed the car door pointedly, hoping Sal would drive off and they could be spared Sal's idiocy this time._

_Sal being Sal, they weren't that lucky. He hung out over the side of the car, leeringly, and asked her, "Ya like the car?" _

_Stella shrugged noncommittally. "It's alright."_

"_Maybe I can give ya a ride sometime, huh?" He waggled his eyebrows and chuckled at his tasteless double entendre. _

"_Come on, Sal, let's get going," Mac urged irritably._

"_In a minute_, pal." _Sal gave him a dirty look in the rearview mirror, and then looked over at Stella again and said, "I'll see_ you _later, beautiful." Then he winked and kissed in the air at her and pulled away from the curb. _

_Sal was chuckling to himsel_f_—at some Neanderthalian inner thought, Mac was sure. And he couldn't help but mutter, "Asshole," under his breath as Sal soared away out of the neighborhood._

And that was the beginning of the day. Should've been a blazing augury to stay the hell in bed, but, obviously, he hadn't been firing on all cylinders that morning.

He shut off the water, grabbed the towel and peeked into the room, making sure it was clear, the door still closed, then he entered and started drying himself off, wincing as he brushed over a few new bruises he'd acquired that night.

_After the trip, he'd then gotten the 'privilege' of hanging out with Sal (and luckily, Big Tony) biding time until Tom and Gianni arrived with a few others, to more thoroughly go over the plan of action for later that evening._

_Then there'd been the actual robbery of Roselli's newest shipment. _

_It had been nerve-wracking, not being sure if some complication would pop up, and—working with a bunch of criminals, all carrying weapons—worrying that someone could get hurt or killed. Also, he'd had to blend in, without actually breaking any law. It helped having Tom there. And Mac had pulled it off, gone into the job as a lookout outside of the warehouse with Frank, while the others went inside and grabbed the stuff. No one happened to be there, except one guy who was knocked cold, so there weren't any casualties or serious abuses—inside._

_Outside, Frank had disappeared around the corner of the warehouse, securing the back. He'd been gone a long time, when the crew came out with the stuff. Gianni, who'd been off to the side observing things, ordered everyone to throw the bags in a nearly empty dumpster by the warehouse and set them on fire. He'd then asked where Frank was and, upon learning where he'd disappeared to, ordered Mac to go in search of him. _

_Mac arrived just in time to see Frank standing over the badly beaten body of a druggie, panting. Appalled and angry, he'd asked him, "Why?" _

_Frank had just shrugged indifferently, and said, "He bothered me. Wouldn't move when I asked 'im to."_

_Mac knew he couldn't make a scene there without possibly messing things up, so he informed Frank that Gianni was waiting for him out front and stayed behind. When he deemed it safe enough, he checked the man's pulse. It was thready, but there. And he quickly pulled out his FBI-issued burner phone, dialed 911 and anonymously reported it. Then he broke the phone and threw it in the water. He could easily get another. Afterwards, he swiftly double-timed it back to the front of the warehouse. _

And that's how he'd found out what sort of man, beyond even a drug dealer, Frank was. Mac was aching to get these guys behind bars, and he was utterly glad he could be part of the team to do so.

After he'd dressed, he came out of the bedroom and Stella, Tom and Frank were there in the living room. _Speaking of the devil_, thought Mac. He could barely contain his disgust at being in the same room with the guy. The image of the poor addict, bruised and bloodied, half-dead, flashed before him and his fists clenched.

"Hey there, Big Mac," Tom greeted him first. "There's pizza on the counter in the kitchen, if you're hungry.

Mac nodded and went swiftly to the kitchen, needing to get away from Frank.

Inside the kitchen, he grabbed a slice, still warm and topped with gooey cheese, and plopped it on a paper plate. Then he grabbed a beer from the fridge and popped open the top, gulping it and enjoying the cool, tangy tartness and smooth finish.

He'd just placed the bottle down on the island, when Stella entered the kitchen, going to the cabinet, pulling out a mug, and putting it on the island next to the pizza.

"Having some?" Mac inquired, before taking a bite out of the slice he'd procured.

Stella shook her head. "Nah, I ate a big salad earlier. Still full." She remained quiet a moment, letting him eat as she pulled out a kettle and put it on, then pulled out a teabag and placed it in her red cup.

After she'd finished, while she was waiting for the water to boil, she turned to Mac, folding her arms over her chest. "Rough day?"

Mac nodded.

"Yeah, I can tell. You look exhausted, too." She rubbed a hand on his back briefly, soothingly, and then folded her arms again.

"I am. As soon as I finish this slice, I'm hittin' the rack."

Mac was too tired, by that point, to care about the embarrassing events that had transpired that morning. And he was quietly glad she was there with him. He knew she was ready if he needed to talk, but she wouldn't pry. Plus, her presence had a way of calming him. Always had.

Moments later, when he'd finished his slice and thrown away the paper plate, and she stood there steeping her tea bag, he thought to ask, "What's Frank doin' here anyway?"

"He's here for the night."

Mac groaned.

"Yeah, apparently, this is a regular occurrence. His wife and he had a big fight and she kicked him out onto the couch. He never deigns to sleep there, so when this happens, he bunks here with Tom in the spare room."

Mac rubbed the back of his neck and thought, _Perfect_. "Where does he plan on sleeping tonight, since you're in the spare room?"

"Not sure. I guess we can discuss that when we get back in the living room."

Mac, not in the mood, after the day he'd had, to chit chat with Frank about sleeping arrangements, suggested, "Well, I could just make a pallet in the spare room, on the floor. Let him have the couch."

Stella, about to take a sip of her tea, paused. "That's not gonna happen."

"Stell—"

She held up a hand, brooking no argument. "Listen, I know you had a hard day today. I see a new bruise on your arm there, I also saw you wince walking over to throw your paper plate away. I know your body's not up for the floor tonight. I can take the floor."

"Not gonna happen, either." Mac was drained, but he was just as stubborn as Stella.

She sighed and thought a moment, taking a sip of her tea. Then she suggested, "How about...we share the bed."

Mac's eyebrows shot up practically to his hairline.

"We're best friends. I think we can handle it with dignity," she said breezily.

Mac looked uncertain. Sure, he was tired, but this was Stella, not just his ex-partner and best friend, but, as he had been thinking about more and more lately, an incredibly beautiful, potently desirable woman. Such a temptation was not to be taken lightly.

He wanted to say no, but he was so weary that he started rationalizing everything because it was easier, and he didn't have much left in him to give that night. As tired as he was, he would probably fall asleep the minute his head hit the pillow anyway, he reasoned, making it a non-issue. So, he reluctantly agreed.

* * *

Back in the room, Mac got into bed while Stella bustled around, tidying a few things. She had on a loose red top and charcoal gray yoga pants and was sipping the remainder of her tea before bed. Mac, already in the bed and tense, shut his eyes and rolled over to the edge, away from the enticing image.

Finally, blissfully, she turned out the lamp and slipped under the covers. After shifting a little, she sighed. Suddenly, in the silent darkness of the room, she said, "Mac, you can take your half of the bed. I don't want you to fall off."

"I'm fine, Stell," he mumbled awkwardly.

She rolled over toward him and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Come on, Mac. I know you, and I trust you. It'll be okay." She paused a moment, and then smiled to herself. "Besides, if you get outta line, I have a gun." She smirked.

Mac heaved a deep, exasperated sigh and rolled his body over to face the ceiling, instead of the opposite wall, effectively bringing himself more to the center of the bed, and closer to her. He could feel the warmth emanating from her side, hear her gentle breathing. "There, happy?" he said, a bit hoarsely.

"Much better. Good night...Big Mac." Stella smirked at the nickname. Then she rolled over, snuggling deeper under the covers.

Several hours later, Stella was soundly asleep as Mac lay there, eyes gritty, still staring at the ceiling, unable to sleep. He'd turned and tossed, buried his face under the pillow, tried to think of assorted peaceful things—anything but her—to no avail. He could smell her (she smelled terrific, a soft, sweet indescribably feminine scent), and it was driving him crazy.

He couldn't help but think about how small the bed seemed. And his ache for Stella deepened like a yawning chasm. So, finally, he turned over to face her. His eyes had long since adjusted to the moonlight streaming in from the windows, and he could see her laying there, looking like an angel: beautiful cascades of silky, textured curls on her pillow, soft, dark lashes brushing against her cheeks, her alluring lips slightly parted, her neck curved gracefully; and he also took in something he'd noticed, with his eye for detail, since their earliest days together, and had wanted to touch for the longest time—a tiny beauty mark above her suprasternal notch.

Anyone looking at him right then, watching her sleep, could've seen that his eyes were full of adoration and longing. He wanted more than anything to kiss her. But, he knew that was impossible. So, out of desperation, he carefully got out of bed, opened the door, and quietly exited the room. Frank was on the couch, sprawled out, snoring loudly. Mac stealthily slid on his tennis shoes by the door, left the house and went for a run.

Along the way, he tried to think of nothing but the sound of the rubber soles of his tennis shoes hitting the pavement, the chirp of the crickets in the air, the smell of the dewy grass. Every time his mind started on thoughts of her, he pressed himself harder, trying to drive them out.

He _tried_, but his mind uncharacteristically refused to obey and continued stubbornly to dwell on Stella. Thoughts and fantasies of her blazed in his mind in time with the thudding of his heart. He hoped that the run would exhaust him so thoroughly, he'd just fall into bed and drift straight to sleep.

When he returned, a couple hours later, he was indeed ready to drop. Mac kicked off his shoes, noting that Frank was still snoring, undisturbed, one arm dangling off the couch. He eased back into the spare room and silently shut the door.

Once inside, he grabbed some clothes from the dresser and made a beeline for the bathroom. He was all sweaty and needed a shower before he was fit to sleep beside her. So, he closed the door, grabbed a quick wash, and then changed. Afterwards, he slipped smoothly back into the bed. Stella had shifted some, but was still sleeping peacefully.

He fell asleep pretty quickly after that. The last thoughts fuzzily swirling around his barely cognizant mind were about how wonderful it felt laying in bed with her, feeling her warmth, how it felt so good not to be sleeping alone that night.

* * *

The next morning, when he awakened, the first sensation that hit him was bliss. Peaceful, secure bliss.

_Man_, she was warm. Soft. Mac was wrapped around her protectively, cuddling her close, like she was the most precious thing in his world. Her sweet-smelling hair tickled his nose as he spooned her, pressed intimately into her back. His eyes still closed, too fresh from a deep sleep to realize anything but the overwhelmingly euphoric sensations enveloping him, he bore a huge grin, nuzzling his nose in the curve of her neck. He placed soft kisses there, relishing the scent, then brushed his firm lips up and down the gentle curve.

He felt so incredibly good.

Stella murmured a soft, happy feminine moan and shifted a little, brushing his morning wood, firmly pressed into the cleft of her bottom, which only hardened him further. At the sensation she stoked, "Stell—" tumbled roughly, needily out of his mouth.

And then, suddenly, hearing her name uttered like that from his own lips, his eyes shot open. And he realized fully his embarrassing predicament. The first two words that came to his mind were, _Oh fuck_.

He listened carefully to her breathing; it was still deep and even. Slightly relieved, he assessed the situation, now fully awake. His arm was around her middle, his broad hand slightly under the hem of her shirt, on the smooth warm skin of her abdomen. His legs were entangled with hers. They were pressed very tightly together. And then there was the raging hard on he had right then, digging into her bottom.

_Fuck, fuck, fuck! _his mind cursed at him. Then he thought, _Really not the word to be using right now, Taylor. _He forced himself to focus on how to get out of bed without waking her, freaking her out, and humiliating himself into the dust. _You've been in worse situations. Suck it the fuck up and move gently..._

Eventually, he extracted himself. And, amazingly enough, considering the luck he seemed to be having lately, he did it without alerting her, and he hurried himself into the bathroom. He needed another shower—this time, cold.

"_...I wish I were the rain _

_Running down your neck, _

_And dripping from your fingers_

_Then I could be the drops _

_Rolling off your back, _

_I'd love to let it linger_

_Oh, I'm jealous of the rain_

_I don't wanna share you with nothin' else, _

_I gotta have you to myself_

_Oh, I can't help it, I'm so in love, _

_I just can't get you close enough, no_

_When it rains on your face, _

_I almost can taste_

_Your beauty, your grace, _

_I'm jealous of the rain..."_

\- Shania Twain, "I'm Jealous"


	6. Chapter 5

Hey, you guys!

Hope everyone had a lovely week. Mine was crazy. In fact, that's why this chapter is a bit later than usual, because it was such a busy time. Also, because this was a more difficult chapter for me to beta.

I wanted to thank _**SchaMG**_ for the story follow, you are awesome.

Also, to darling _**Lily**_: Your review gave me life. I loved the detail. You know, as a first time writer, there's so much I want to put in here to make it enjoyable for everyone. And it's hard to know what they like and what doesn't do it for people if they don't tell me. It also feels good knowing I hit the mark with this or that and made you smile. It's the best feeling.

Yeah, I'm a little wordy, if you hadn't noticed. Concision and I need to become better acquainted. ;) Also, I wanted to say publicly that I hope I didn't come across as too defensive in my response as to how I see the characters. I know we discussed this privately, but I felt you deserved a public acknowledgement of my remorse if I came across that way. I'm still learning all the nuances of the characters as I watch the show, and am trying to portray them as realistically and in character as I can. But I know I'm far from perfect and may miss the mark sometimes.

Why do you think it might have eventually happened? That would've been great. It sucks seeing all the wasted potential there, seeing, after the show is over and nothing more can be done about it, what great stuff they could've done with this. I mean, the natural chemistry there was so good, and the writers so perfect at the character stuff (as well as writing the procedural bit out, but I'm focusing on the character stuff because that's what I personally am drawn to in a show. To me procedural may be popular, but they are a dime a dozen. Finding well-rounded, good character writers is actually not always easy—_especially,_ in a procedural), that I have absolutely no doubt in my mind it would've been excellently done.

I mean, I'm trying to contribute what I can, but it would've been so much better in the series, with the actors and the wonderful writers of this show who made up the sum of what Stella and Mac were in the first place. It's a tribute to them seeing how many stories there are on here for that show. These people were inspired by their work because it was that good.

That's interesting what you say about Danny and Lindsay. I liked them and thought they were a great example of well-written chemistry. The writers eventually intended on them getting together and they built it up well, executed it well, and it was enjoyable. But, and I may not be remembering correctly, I don't think the underlying chemistry was really there. You know, the natural chemistry that Gary and Melina had that I spoke of last time. Their chemistry is so noticeable, it came across in spite of the writing. But Danny and Lindsay had good chemistry that came across as written and played by good actors. As I said, maybe I'm mis-remembering it, as I've only watched the show through once, and I'm just about to start "Zoo York" when I get back to my note-taking, re-watch of the series. So, I'll pay close attention and see if I get the same impression.

Well, I'm so very glad you enjoyed it! It was one of my favorite chapters to write.

To my beautiful _**K**_: Thank you so much for your sweet, thoughtful reviews. They always make my day brighter. I've told you before and I'll say it again, I would've stopped posting this long ago, thinking it an abysmal failure, if it weren't for you and Lily's faithful kindnesses. If I write anything else of note ever, or put it out there, it will be due in part to you guys.

I'm glad I made you laugh. It still puts a smile on my face all these days later.

To everyone else, I'm about to go over my favorite bits of the re-watch I did of season one. If you don't care about it, skip this part. ;)

I just finished season one and started the first two episodes of season two on the series. I'm sharing this with you because it's fun to talk about something we all enjoyed when it was around. I never got that experience since I wasn't a part of the fandom when it was on. So, I don't know about you guys, but my favorite episodes of season one were: "Creatures of the Night." I loved the dichotomy of the episode of rats (ugh!, btw)  and the serious crime of rape. I also loved how Danny and Aiden came in and helped Stella out, even though it was shift end for them. And how Mac came in eventually, too. It said a lot about the characters and made you respect and like them, that they were that unselfish and empathetic. I also liked "Rain." The concept of the case. I liked the the 'gooey' joke and re-visit of it later. "Officer Blue"—one of my absolute favorites of the season. It was definitely one of my top five of the season. I loved every bit of this episode, the sniper case, the use of the horse, the way Stella handled that AR-15 (pretty awesome/cool), the argument, the make up at the end, the way it established their friendship, and hinted that she knew him before 9/11. As I mentioned before, I'm not a big procedural fan. Also, mysteries/whodunnits are fine, but not something that really attract me to a show/movie. So, I like when a case can really stand out and grab by attention and make me remember it, not just in the series' work as a whole, but in TV shows that I've seen in general. This episode did that. "Tanglewood," was great with the case, the cocky, infuriating perp, and I really enjoyed this piece of Danny's backstory, it was interesting. Great stuff. I also like how Mac gave off a fatherly, supportive vibe when he talked to Danny, and the baseball discussion Mac/Stella had, as well as the baseball tie in. And I felt terrible for the poor kid who got murdered. Overall, if you can't tell, this was in my top five of a great season. Really liked the circus/Romeo and Juliet theme of "Blood, Sweat and Tears." Also liked the scenes between Hawkes, Stella and Mac in autopsy. They riffed on this theme several times in this season, and it was always enjoyable. Stella being grossed out, Hawkes teasing her, Mac and Hawkes joking...always enjoyed those scenes. In "Til Death Do We Part," I loved the joking around between Danny and Mac at the beginning (Mac: It could happen to you, you know. Danny: Don't even say stuff like that, Mac.), and the way Aiden and Stella teased Flack about his superstition (Aiden: Stell, you smell that? Stella: Yeah, chicken.—haha). The banter between Flack and Stella about who's driving. The insight into Stella's foster care past. The rant Stella goes on about Flack to Mac, only to correct herself later, the quick to agree line and the peck by the cheek. Basically, the character stuff, was a great mix between fun and funny and insightful/interesting. "Hush" was another of my top five of the season. I actually was interested in both cases, the actor they used for the perp was great, there were several great one-liners in here, e.g., 'You can tell by the sunglasses and little shorts.' I loved how Stella saved Mac, and how Mac's sense of justice was really made clear here. I love how he felt bad about the poor worker who lost his job, and how Stella had faith in him (she did that a lot this season) that he would make things right. And the 'That's What partner's do,' line was nice, too. "The Fall" had a great case that really made Flack stand out. He's usually the cocky, funny, street-smart tough guy. And that makes for some amusing moments, but this episode gave him depth. And I like how his father was a cop, too. Pretty cool. "The Dove Commission" was another top five. Excellent, interesting, unique case. I love how Stella took charge at the beginning, I love how silently in tandem they were at times, like with the intended victim and getting her lipstick on the tissue. There were several funny one-liners in here, (e.g., Flack to news reporter: I'll give you rights...and lefts. / the acronym joke from Chad, the lab tech, Stella to Mac: You wanna put him in a box, play good cop bad cop? I'll be bad cop./Supoena's 'R' Us). I also respected that Danny apologized to the kid, and again, the way that Stella was so good at assembling/dissembling a weapon. IDK, you expect a guy to be good at it, and she _is_ a CSI, but it just seemed kinda badass the two times they had her do it this season. "Crimes and Misdemeanors" had two good cases, interesting Danny development (though I was sad to see him defy Mac, I understood why he did it), the vengeance factor was sad in Mac and Stella's case. I love how she got upset like Mac does at the injustice of the victim's death. Chad having to have his shirt off and pose with the dummy for a blood pattern test. The 'no, I mean, what do normal people do' line. And finally, the Danny flirting with Aiden thing, and the confrontation with Mac. "Supply and Demand" was good. But my favorite parts were honestly the fight between Mac and Stella. I love how she went toe-to-toe with him, how when Aiden walked up, it was sort of like a 'mom and dad fighting' vibe, like a cross between wanting to laugh and uncomfortableness. Then how, when they heard the info from her the first time, how close they stood. Then, after the fight, Stella stood across the room (great visual joke, and points for realism), they were still irritable, until the case reeled them in. And the nice make up scene. Those parts get honorable mention. Also, honorable mention to "On the Job." The Danny case was excellent fare, and Stella with the baby. Wow. She just looks like she'd be an incredible mother, the way she handled Daniela. How she talked to the baby, her voice was sweet and gentle, the way she smiled at her and touched her, it was just adorable and natural. "The Closer" had baseball, cool Danny background, I _loved_ the Stella Hawkes moment at the beginning, fun, funny and cute. Stella speaking in Greek. Oh, there are two episodes where Danny takes down a perp, and he's actually pretty great at it, even though he's not this huge, bulky-framed sorta guy. Both takedowns were pretty great. Loved how Mac and Stella had that great, vulnerable talk about the ostensible perp and Claire. I also loved the scene where she was happy for him because he was happy, as well as, the second reference to how she knew him before 9/11 went down, and the gentle nudge she gave him (like in the episode when she asked him to join the team for drinks, that was another great scene, and example of good underlying chemistry) about his ring, but didn't push further, accepted his answer without judgment. "What You See is What You See" gets honorable mention for the end scene. That kinda chemistry was great. Just watching that scene you could see a piece of the potential that Mac and Stella could have had with the writers and the actors bringing it home. Gary and Melina played this scene off so well.

Well, if anyone made it through that huge highlight reel, kudos to you. :) You see, since I don't have anyone to talk about this show with, and didn't get to share in the fandom reaction when it was aired, this is my way of sorta sharing it with you. I wish I knew what some of your favorite moments/lines/cases were. I'd truly be interested to know.

Finally, thanks to all my returning visitors to this story and to my new country from last week, the beautiful, incomparable France and the wonderful, alluring Portugal. I appreciate you all, truly. And to the new readers from countries I've already given a shout out to, thanks to you, too.

Okay, this has gone on so long. (QED about concision, am I right?) Even if you skipped the longest part, the recap of season one faves, I hope you will still like the newest chapter. I felt like I let you guys down a little being late on this, but as you know, rl waits for no man. So, I even though I planned on resting today, I spent a part of it to try to finish this for you. I'm still not satisfied with it, but I figured if I waited until I was, who knows how long it'll be till I am. :/

Have a great week, my lovely readers.

* * *

**Chapter Five**

"_...Oh, I've got lightning in my veins_

_Shifting like the handle of a slot machine_

_Love may still exist in another place_

_I'm just yanking back the handle, _

_No expression on my face..."_

\- Rod Stewart, "Rhythm of My Heart"

Mac sat out on the back porch, drinking a cold, frosty beer and looking up at the sky full of stars. _I should've become an astronomer_, he thought. He'd actually been interested in astrophysics in college—had very briefly debated on making it his minor. He loved the stars. They moved him like little else did. How much easier life would've been. More quiet. But also, maybe a bit less rewarding, especially for a man of action like himself who wanted to help others.

He closed his eyes a moment, taking in his surroundings with his other senses. He could smell the spiciness of the beer in his hand mixed with the scent of flowers. The night was humid and the bottle in his hand was cold. A few drops of condensation slipped over his fingers. He heard the quiet strains of music from the crickets mix with the perfection of Bach's 'Prelude in 'C' Major' from the "Well-Tempered Clavier" on the radio.

Then he opened his eyes, and Stella was there, like some 'messenger from radiant climes,' as Matthew Arnold had once put it. She calmly sat next to him on the swing and started cleaning off and treating the gash on his forearm. Too tired to protest, happy, in fact, that she was doing so, he remained silent. His only outward form of communication was an occasional facial expression of pain and muscle tension at the sting of the alcohol.

He watched her studiously, as she carefully applied ointment and then started bandaging the wound, taking in her sweet face, her soft touch, and her empathetic expression. She wore a pair of dark blue jeans and...it looked like, his shirt, he observed, as she stood to place the items back into the house when she'd finished.

She saw him eyeing it curiously, and she quietly said, a little abashedly, "It was comfortable and smelt nice. So, I threw it on while doing laundry."

He merely nodded, but thought to himself how impossibly lovely she looked in it.

She placed everything away and came back to the swing, sitting close, facing him and eyed the new bruise on his face.

After a time of companionable silence, Mac finally confessed, "It was bad tonight, Stell."

He gazed into her beautiful eyes and found peace there, knowing he could unburden himself, and she would not only listen and care, but, somehow, she would understand completely.

"We got there, at the truck rest stop about nine-thirty. Gianni had it on good authority that this guy would stop there. Always did. How he knew, I don't know, but he did. And he was right..."

_It had been another robbery. They were supposed to hijack a truck loaded with a new batch of Roselli's heroin, as he'd gotten wiser since Gianni had destroyed his last one. Roselli had moved his place of delivery, beefed up security there and threatened everyone with merciless repercussions if Gianni ever found the new place. But, whomever Gianni had for a contact, gave him another way to get at Roselli's 'merchandise.'_

_The job was supposed to be clockwork. They took two vehicles, Sal and Gianni and a couple of his other guys, Paul and Eddie, in one car, Mac, Tom, Frank and a kid in his late twenties, Jake, in the other. The kid was someone who'd worked his way up from the streets, eager to make good. He'd handled everything thrown at him thus far, and so, Gianni had allowed him to join in. He'd sorta latched on to Mac, had chattered to him the whole way up._

_Their instructions had been to wait till the driver was otherwise engaged, and then break into the truck and drive away._

_But it didn't go that way. _

_Roselli had obviously been tipped off. Or, maybe he was just playing it extra careful after the loss of his last batch. Either way, the truck driver had not been alone. And when Frank and Sal had gotten into the truck and started driving off with it onto the darkened, mostly empty, highway. It wasn't only the two vehicles with Gianni and Tom and Mac in them that followed it, but, surreptitiously, two dark SUVs followed in the night, careful to stay back, keeping a car or two behind them when possible._

_Frank drove awhile and, subsequently, pulled off into an unoccupied, dusty gravel pit worksite and got out with Sal. The rest, including Mac and Tom, got out as well and went to the back of the truck. Frank was already working on getting the back open._

_That was when all hell broke loose. _

_It seemed to fall on them all at once. The other two SUVs, headlights off, drove up and the shooting started. Everyone ducked for cover. There were shouts and profanities filling the air, all punctuated with the echoing crack of gunfire._

_Gianni, who'd been observing everything from afar, as usual, Mac noted a couple of times during the fray, sat smoking calmly, still in his black SUV. Outside, in the moonlight, amongst the muffled grunts of men getting punched, the sound of the crunch of gravel under the feet of struggling men, the night being briefly lit up by muzzle fire from the guns, and chalky white dust rising up and choking him out, stinging his eyes, Mac could see Gianni take a deep drag on the cigarette he was smoking, turning the ash at the end of it from white to hellfire orange. _

_Eventually, it ended with several injuries on both sides before one of Roselli's guys wormed his way into the truck and booked it out of there. Once he'd accomplished that, the remainder of Roselli's crew followed suit. At the time, Mac had been struggling with one of Roselli's men who'd got the drop on him briefly, but with his deeply ingrained hand-to-hand combat skills, he had quickly prevailed. The guy knew he was out-matched, and besides, the truck had been in their possession by then. So, he quickly made his way to one of the black vehicles. _

_Mac let him. _

_Some of the others ran and shot their few remaining bullets at the retreating SUVs, and Mac shot his weapon a couple of times. He knew he had to with Gianni watching them. Since he was ranked expert at marksmanship, he knew how to discharge his weapon safely, carefully missing anything or anyone. No one else hit anything either. Unlike in the movies, it was hard to hit a moving target with a pistol. Especially in low visibility by men who had little to no marksmanship abilities, except at close range, mostly stationary targets. _

_Then, just as Roselli's guys started pulling away, the sound of distant sirens filled the thick night air, and they knew they had to beat a hasty retreat. Mac and Tom knew the local cops weren't in on the FBI op. It wouldn't do for them to be caught. Could lead to dangerous complications._

_The formerly excited kid, Jake, had been severely injured. Mac, noticing his predicament—as Jake struggled, outmatched, in front of the headlights of the truck—had tried to make it over to help him, but he'd been unable to get there in time. _

_Tom and Mac had quickly carried him, Tom grabbing his arms, Mac grabbing his legs as he was largely deadweight, and placed him carefully into the back of Gianni's SUV, as Gianni had ordered, before rushing away from the worksite. During this, they'd gotten a semi-decent look at him. Tom had gotten a close up look as Jake's head lolled across Tom's chest to settle against the crook of his arm. Amongst his other injuries, it looked like a bullet had deeply chafed the side of his head. The kid was bleeding copiously from the dirt and gravel embedded wound. Mac knew the kid would bleed out before they could make it to a hospital. They were too far away._

_He also knew Gianni would have the kid dumped somewhere out of the way, once he figured it out. Tom would inform the Feds, see how they wanted to play it from there, but, what was done was done. Gianni, the smug, careless SOB, still was alive and free at the moment. And Jake would be quickly forgotten by him._

_Mac sorely needed to punch something. _

_He and Tom barely said anything on the way back into town. Both letting Frank do any talking that was done. Both angry and stressed at how the night's events had played out. Tom's shirt and left arm were covered in the kid's smeared, drying blood. They were bruised and filthy, covered in fine dust. _

_Mac had been thinking to himself despairingly that this reminded him of being back in war, but worse, because this was his home front. He and many good men had risked, and sometimes lost, everything to protect it. But there was evil everywhere, and these men were stone cold killers and hadn't the least compunction, if they thought it would fulfill their sordid desires, of falling on, preying on, and warring with, anyone who got in their way. Mac shook his head again, eyeing the dashboard, wanting to put his fist through it to relieve some of the pressure. Then he'd noticed his busted forearm. With all the adrenaline coursing through his veins, he hadn't even registered it._

_At the same time, in the other vehicle, unbeknownst to Mac, Sal felt the heat, like a raging furnace, of Gianni's ire. He sat there cursing out Roselli, ranting about him, promising himself, with a murderous look in his eye, that he would get even with him. He'd pay for the wasted time and energy, and, most of all, for the loss of face Gianni would endure when news spread on the street on how Roselli had gotten one over on him_

_Sal knew he meant it. Almost felt sorry for Roselli. He knew how bad Gianni's temper was when he actually lost control. He went off the rails—Sal still had a scar given to him by Gianni for remembrance. But mostly, he was just glad it wasn't him who had roused his anger._

_Then the thought struck Sal that maybe he should use this opportunity to talk to Gianni. Sal cleared his throat. "Boss, you ain't really serious about this new guy Mac, are ya? 'Cause, not only is he a total loser, but I don't think he can hit tha broad side of a barn. I never saw him actually hit one person." _

_Gianni, knowing Sal's underlying motivation for this shift in conversation, commented calmly, "It was pretty dark out there, Sal. The only light came from the moon and the headlights of the cars. If anyone hit anyone else, except at point blank range, it was probably only on accident." Gianni lit up another cigarette and inhaled deeply, letting the smoke curl around in his lungs. Jake moaned in pain in the back, distantly irritating him._

"_Well, he ain't much of a fighter, either. Didn't really do much damage out there ta Roselli's guys." Gianni listened carefully to what Sal was saying. Sal snorted derisively. "Probably afraid ta make that ugly face o' his even uglier." He smirked at his own joke. "But what can ya expect from a small-time burglar? Tha guy hasn't got the stones for this sorta work, boss. You should dump him. Now. Before tha deal goes through."_

_Gianni took another pensive puff and exhaled. "Remind me again who's in charge, Sal?"_

"_Sorry, boss. Just tryin' ta help."_

_Gianni snorted and thought, Yeah, yourself. He knew Sal had it out for the guy. And though Sal was an idiot, he thought further, he had a point. Mac hadn't exactly shone out there tonight. But it had been his first hijacking, and things had all went to hell in an instant. At least he'd fared better than Jake had._

_He was a careful man, had to be that way to get to where he aspired to be, and he was still keeping an eye on him. But Tommy trusted him, and that counted for something in Gianni's eyes. Though, if Mac proved to be truly worthless, or suspicious, he'd swiftly and painfully take him out. He'd killed before, several times. He wouldn't hesitate to do it again._

_Just then, Jake eked out another moan, this time more faintly—bleeding out in the back, in agony. Gianni flicked his cigarette out the window and called back to one of his guys in the rear seats, "Will you shut him the hell up! I'm thinkin' here."_

Back on the porch, Mac eventually shared the entire events, to the best of his knowledge, of the evening to Stella. Sometime during this, she'd grabbed his large hand in her smaller one and had held onto it.

It was the best he'd felt all day.

His lovely, strong, compassionate Stella. He knew she'd always be there for him, knew he owed her more than he could ever thank her for after all this time. She would put herself up for a bullet meant for him anytime, anywhere. Had done so a couple of times. No other woman, save for Claire, had ever seen him as exposed as she had. No one else in his life made him feel so safe and at ease.

Now, they were closer than ever. And he liked it that way, liked coming home to her serene, joyful presence. She centered him, always made him feel better, made him smile every single day. He couldn't help but think how she was the first person he wanted to share anything with—pain, anger, joy, laughter. It didn't matter. They shared it all. She'd been the one person he'd really shared anything notable in his life with for a long, long time.

But, because he had been so open and raw with her so much, he was also more worried about losing what they had. He didn't have much left in his life worth holding onto. He was good at his job, but...what a lonely epitaph. He was good, but replaceable. He had friends, good ones. But, at the end of the day, they had their own lives, their own loves. He had—Stella. No earthly possessions or anything else of real value—just Stella, the woman he loved more than his own life. And he was scared as hell of ever losing her, of damaging their relationship permanently by becoming anything more than friends.

He still loved Claire, always would. Felt that was why he'd never been able to make it work with anyone else. Stella understood that love, had never tried to compete with her memory. In fact, she'd been good friends with her and had loved her herself. She knew the score. Mac loved that about her, too.

He felt he had, right then, the best he could dare hope for, a remarkable closeness, a woman he could be, and had been, open and vulnerable around, love, affection, friendship, companionship. Stella laid her head on his shoulders, and he laid his cheek on her head and thought to himself that he would be a monumental idiot to risk the great thing he had here and now for some dream that was doomed to crash and burn like all the others.

As Mac closed his eyes and inhaled her scent, he thought to himself they would always be what they were then, incredibly close friends—nothing more, and nothing less.

"_...When I come home feelin' tired and beat_

_I go up where the air is fresh and sweet (up on the roof)_

_I get away from the hustling crowd_

_And all that rat-race noise down in the street..._

_At night the stars put on a show for free_

_And, darling, you can share it all with me..."_

\- The Drifters, "Up on the Roof"


	7. Chapter 6

Hey, peeps!

Two chapters in one week? Whuuuut?

Yep. For you guys, for having to wait extra long last week.

A bonus chapter.:)

This chapter is dedicated to my mom.

* * *

**Chapter Six**

"_...I know I can't express this feeling of tenderness_

_There's so much I wanna say, _

_But the right words don't come my way_

_I just know when I'm in your embrace_

_This world is a happy place, _

_And something happens to me_

_That's some kind of wonderful..." _

\- The Drifters, "Some Kind of Wonderful"

It had been another long, tiring day and Mac had been exhausted when he'd arrived 'home.' That night was Stella's night to cook. He'd gone and taken a shower as soon as he'd gotten in, washing off the oil and grime of the day, relishing the feel of the hot spray and the clean, spicy, manly scent of the soap, and toweled himself off with a large, soft towel. After changing into comfortable, fresh-smelling clothes, he exited the bedroom and, immediately, the savory scent of Stella's famous spaghetti hit his nostrils. His mouth started to water involuntarily and he wandered to the kitchen entryway.

He stood there a moment, taking in the best sight he'd seen all day. Stella was busy working on a crisp, green salad, pots on the stove were simmering, giving off steam and that heavenly, mouth-watering scent. She was gently humming a song he couldn't make out, her sexy hips swaying hypnotically, her cheeks were flushed from the heat in the kitchen.

She looked exquisite to him.

"Hey there, beautiful," he finally said aloud, walking into the kitchen to the center wooden table, causing Stella to look up at him and smile.

"Wow, Mac, I'd be so flattered right now, if I didn't know full well it's the spaghetti you're talking to." She smiled knowingly at him.

Mac had actually been talking about her, but kept that to himself and smirked, and said, "How well you know me, Stell."

Just then, Tom arrived and burst into the kitchen. "I must be dead, 'cause it smells like heaven in here! I'm _starvin'_."

Mac grabbed a piece of sliced cucumber off a bowl on the table and Stella swatted at his hand, missing. He popped it in his mouth and ate it, then grinned triumphantly at her, and she held up a knife threateningly. His grin widened, and he held up his hands in mock defeat. Then he turned to Tom and said, "You were born hungry, Sideburns."

"Please, like you're not in here slathering over Stella's cooking as we speak."

Mac pretended to punch at Tom, who caught Mac's arm and started play-twisting it. Stella rolled her eyes over how two grown men could be such boys sometimes. She stopped the horseplay, with a twinkle in her eyes, by ordering them to set the table, which they tripped over themselves to do.

Anything to get to eating faster...

* * *

Later that evening, they sat outside chatting quietly, comfortably.

"Best spaghetti I ever ate, Stell. Perfect."

"Thanks, Tom." Greatly pleased at the compliment, Stella rewarded him with a genuine, beautiful Bonasera smile.

"Sure thing."

"It _was_ an excellent meal, Stell. I don't ever recall having better," Mac agreed.

He felt great right then—as great as could be expected, considering the circumstances anyway—relaxed. His stomach was pleasantly filled, his taste buds still dancing from the taste of the complimentary flavors of the red sauce and the wine. The back yard smelled of flowers and freshly cut grass, and the beat up, old, red radio next to them on a small, white side table, softly played music from an oldies station Tom preferred.

Mac was sitting comfortably on the back porch swing, filled with soft pillows. Stella was curled up on the opposite corner of the swing next to him, her graceful hands wrapped around a mug of freshly made, after dinner coffee. Tom was sitting across from them in a comfortable, white wicker chair.

_Good food, good music and good company on a peaceful night, who could ask for anything more?_ Mac thought.

When Stella heard Mac's compliment, it was clear she prized it even more than his own, Tom noted, taking a sip of beer to hide his amusement at the two. She smiled that smile of hers (like she had a secret) and averted her gaze a moment, toward the backyard and the surprisingly temperate summer night.

Tom started talking then—a humorous story concerning an old Mustang he and Mac had fixed up in their academy days—and, for his part, Mac only half listened. His eyes lingered irrepressibly on Stella, who had changed her focus back to Tom, listening intently and smiling at the old, reminiscent story. He just couldn't seem to take his eyes off of her tonight.

This whole experience had little to recommend it, but, if there was anything, it was how it'd forced him to look at Stella in a different light. Let her out of that neat, little compartmentalized area of his brain labeled 'best friend' and see many new facets of her being.

And then, suddenly, he had an overwhelmingly powerful urge to gather her up in his arms, draw her close, kiss those pretty pink lips of hers he knew so well—to bury his hands in those soft, gorgeous tawny curls—

Mac jerked himself roughly back to reality. _Come on, Taylor. This is Stell you're thinking about this way, your former partner, second-in-command, right arm...one of the closest friends you've ever had. Get it together._

Maybe it was the sweet buzz from the lush, velvety red wine he'd imbibed at dinner, maybe it was the atmosphere outside that evening... _Maybe it's her_, his mind threw out rebelliously at him. At that, Mac became uneasy and began mentally stuffing his scattered feelings for Stella neatly back into his 'friend' compartment, when, suddenly, he realized that Tom was addressing him, and Stella was now eyeing him curiously.

Tom, of course, knew his friend well and realized that Mac had just slipped up a moment, psychologically, where Stella and his feelings were concerned. He'd seen Mac watching her while he'd been telling the story, had seen the mix of love, hunger and adoration in his old buddy's eyes. He knew that look well. It was how he still looked at Maggie sometimes.

He missed her so much.

Waiting for Mac to get back to the conversation, Tom mentally thumped Mac on the back of the head for not putting on his big boy shorts and facing up to his real, long-held, feelings for Stella.

Then, he heard the familiar opening guitar riff from "Layla" on the radio and got an idea, his green eyes twinkling merrily. "Why, if it isn't old slow hand... What d' ya think, Stell? If I remember correctly, you have great moves. Care to?" he invited, standing up and extending a hand to her.

"Happy to, Tom." Stella grinned and placed her mug of coffee on the table next to them, standing and slipping her hand into Tom's larger one, while placing the other hand on his broad shoulder. Tom pulled her closer a little and they started swinging around to the music.

The two danced around easily, happily. Tom dipped Stella during one part and the lilting tones of Stella's laughter filled the air, her eyes shining bright. Mac sat there soaking all of this in, a part of him wishing he was there in Tom's place.

At length, the song finished, and Jackie Wilson's "Higher and Higher" came on the radio. Tom stopped and quickly turned to Mac, still sitting there on the swing, avidly watching them. "Your turn, Mac."

Mac shook his head, wry smile on his lips. "Tom, you know I'm not much of a dancer."

"Stella will help you."

Mac was visibly torn, wanting nothing more, at that moment, than to take her in his arms and dance with her, and also wanting to run to the hills to get away from the dangerously swelling sentiments spilling out in spurts in him—knowing being that close to her would not help matters.

"It's okay, Tom. He doesn't have to."

Tom knew Stella was generously, empathetically, offering Mac a way out. _Always trying to make things easier for him. The oldest dance_, Tom thought.

Tom wasn't about to let his friend weasel out of it this time. "Come on, jarhead, you _gotta_ feel her in your arms. She's as light as a feather."

Mac's ears reddened, but he finally complied, standing and drawing Stella near. They started dancing, a bit awkwardly, at first, both hyper aware of the other's closeness, both struggling internally with long-suppressed emotions.

Unfortunately for Mac, he'd taken too long debating whether or not he should dance with Stella, and so, the song ended just as they were starting to relax into it. When Tom realized what song was now playing, The Drifters' "Some Kind of Wonderful," he grinned.

Stella loved how she felt in his arms; she basked in the feel of them, big and strong, wrapped around her slender frame. She felt secure, protected...loved...and because of that, she finally let herself melt into him.

She laid her head down on his shoulder, her nose next to his neck, close enough to nuzzle it, though she didn't. Stella could smell his cologne and feel his broad shoulder shift under her cheek. She pressed her other hand to his heart as they gently swayed together.

Mac swallowed nervously, shifted uncomfortably.

Tom's grin widened.

He wanted to drown in her, she smelled sweet, intoxicating, and he could feel her incredible softness mold into his every crevice. She felt like she was _made_ for his arms, like she belonged there. Mac felt his blood warm and his pulse quicken.

And then, accidentally, as he shifted again, he felt her lips brush softly, quickly, against his neck. His eyes immediately clamped shut and his breathing hitched.

Those thoughts, rife with attendant feelings of joy, fear and anticipation, rushed swiftly into his head again, like water bursting uncontrollably free from a dam—and this time they refused to leave. He could see his ring on her finger, a kid with curly hair and green eyes like his mother's. He imagined going to sleep with her in his arms and waking up next to her. And then he imagined kissing her, this time much more vividly. He knew he'd take his time to kiss her right, show her without words what she meant to him.

Just then, the song finished and went on to another, and Mac and Stella slowly, reluctantly, pulled apart. They stood there a moment exchanging meaningful looks, hearts thumping wildly in their chests. Mac had eyes only for Stella, immersing himself in her beauty, her big, gorgeous green eyes, her smooth, olive skin, her mouth—

Tom cleared his throat and the two turned to him, embarrassed at his knowing grin.

Stella tried to play it off, saying breathlessly, "Well, that was fun!" and sat back down on the swing.

Mac remained silent, breathing quickly himself. Tom knew it was more from their shared feelings than from the dancing, and he decided to let them off the hook, mostly because he knew when to give them a gentle push and when to lay off. These two, especially Mac, could be stubborn about any number of things, and when pushed too far, they dug in and refused to move.

"Nothin' like the old stuff. Don't make 'em like they used to." He lit a cigarette and puffed contemplatively. He had quit smoking long ago, but picked the habit back up again when hanging with Gianni, who smoked as well. Strange as it seemed, the fact that they shared this weakness made Gianni identify with him more, feel closer to him. It was gonna be hell breaking it again when he got back home, though.

Mac took a gulp of his beer and nodded. "Yeah. Times change, music changes with it...sometimes for the better, sometimes, not so much."

"The truly great music is ageless, though."

Mac grunted in acknowledgement. "'On the Alamo,' 'Singin' the Blues'—"

"You talkin' about jazz again, Mac?" Tom rolled his eyes.

"Well, I actually have taste, unlike some people, so...yeah."

"Taste? I have taste comin' outta my ears."

Mac snorted scoffingly in response. He turned to Stella and informed her, "Tommy boy here likes the old rock stuff—you know, like Motown."

"Hey now, Motown was truly great in their day. Some of tha best music of all time came outta Motown."

"Okay, but what about Sidney Bechet, Benny Goodman, Miles Davis, Ella Fitzgerald, John Coltrane...Duke Ellington...? And let's not forget Louis Armstrong."

"Yeah, I'll give you Satchmo. The man had a true gift."

"See?"

"Oh please. One person. How can one person compare to The Temptations, The Supremes, The Four Tops, Martha and The Vandellas, Stevie Wonder? And, stepping out of Motown, what about The Beatles, The Beach Boys, Frankie Valli? Not ta mention—"

"Oh no..." Mac muttered under his breath to Stella. Stella grinned.

"Not to mention—" Tom held up a finger to Mac, signaling to him to stop interrupting.

"Get ready. Here it comes..." Mac murmured and smirked.

Stella's smile grew.

"—The King. Come on! Are you kiddin' me?"

Mac shook his head and grinned at his old pal. "Well, now he's started, we'll never get him to stop. He can wind on and on all night about Elvis."

"Hey, man, don't mess with The King. His impact on his generation, and generations to come, was big—_huge_."

"Whatever you say, Sideburns," Mac joked, bringing up Tom's old military nickname, given to him because of his well-known reverence for The King. Mac curled his lip up like Elvis, to mock Tom. Tom jumped up and grabbed his head in a choke hold, causing Stella to laugh and jump up as they wrestled a bit.

Later, the threesome continued talking long into the night, almost able to forget for a moment where they were, what they had yet to do and that none of them really knew whether they'd all make it out in one piece—or at all.

"_We've been together _

_For such a long time now, _

_Music and me..._

_Grab a song and come along_

_You can sing your melody_

_In your mind you will find_

_A world of sweet harmony..." _

\- Michael Jackson, "Music and Me"


	8. Chapter 7

Hey, guys. Hope you all are doing well.:)

Thank you, _**Lily**_. I really appreciate your consistent kindness. You are a wonderful human being.

Oh really? Haha I didn't know if anyone would want to read anything that lengthy, non-story related. It's been a blast going through the series again and re-experiencing it/remembering what made me like it so much in the first place. And this way, I can share it with you guys, since I was unable to when it aired. As for a re-watch, you should! It's really nice.

Yeah, you're right—what you've seen is the tip of the iceberg. And thank you for the compliment about the characters, it means a lot. At this point, I'm wondering if I didn't post this fic way too soon. Right now it's hard for me to look at it and not see its flaws.

As for Mac, yeah, the poor guy is being put through the ringer—and, believe me, the worst is yet to come. (But there's a payoff, too;))

Yeah, I thought of Stella chafing at being at home, so, I addressed it. But I didn't go into depth (even though I suppose I could've). I love it when Stell gets action, too, and that's her personality, but she's had to temper herself since, basically, that's the only control she has over this situation. Her attitude.

IDK, I felt it was realistic. Often in life, we have to deal with things we wouldn't choose. We humans have even less power than we're really, fully cognizant of in life, I feel. But we always have control of how we react to things, of our thinking, etc. Stella can't foist her way into Gianni's team, so she has to deal with the situation the best she can. And, in true Stella fashion, she makes the best of it.

Well, I'm still very much a fledgling writer, so I'm not at your (amazing) level of putting them through the fire, but I tried. ;)

So, I just read your second review and it totally made my day. (13 Days in a row? Whew! How are you even awake rn, poor kid? Glad you finally got a day off.) Also, if you liked that one, I think you're really gonna like this next one. Although, I'm a little nervous, too. I hope it will meet expectations. (You're right, btw, it is the calm before the storm that's slowly brewing.) I was gonna wait till later to post this chapter because I wanted to give it one last once over, but your review made me so happy, I'm posting it now. Thank you so much, sweetie.:)

For anyone who happens to be reading along with my re-discovery of the series, I've made it through five episodes of season two now. So far, I really like it. In the first ep., I love the good-natured ribbing that Hawkes gets from Mac and Stell. (Stella: So, did you start torturing him yet? Mac smirks, and corrects: It's _testing_, Stella, just...testing. All the rookies get the same treatment.—haha) I love how she delighted conspiratorially at the prospect that Mac had started busting Hawkes's chops as a rookie, but how she helped Hawkes out, too. I thought the climber case was very interesting, a nice, intriguing draw, fitting for a season premiere. Also, the Danny perp takedown was cool in this ep. And the side case.

The lye case was pretty good in the second ep. Also, seeing Frankie for the first time, creeped me out so much. *shudders* Just seeing Stella flirt with him on the screen, I wanted to grab her and say, 'No.' Just...ugh.

Moving on...I like the, 'So, did Franklin tell you anything, or did he lawyer up?' line from Mac to Hawkes in here about the teddy bear he scoured for evidence. The 'Detective Prada...' joke from Danny was funny, too. I loved the whole ambiance from Mac and Stell when they discussed Aiden tampering with evidence. The whole scene was acted and written so well. Even though I knew where it was going to lead, it still got to me, and I liked that. Also, two more great lines: the 'more flags than the UN building' line and the one where Mac tells Hawkes that 'eating is frowned upon.' Haha Good stuff.

The third ep.—Lindsay! It was nice seeing her again. I'm learning so many details about her that I had forgotten. I liked how supportive Stell was to her when she was feeling out of her depth with the fast pace of the NYC lab. Stella was such a cool character. I'm seeing more and more why, after she left, I couldn't bring myself to watch further. She was bigger than life. Losing her would've been like losing Mac. The show would still be the show intrinsically, but it wouldn't be quite the same in some of the best ways. One of my favorite facets would be missing, and I would've thought about that continuously even if I could've brought myself to watch further eventually. Ah well. At least we got her for six seasons. And I'm glad we had such great writers and such an unforgettable actress like Melina to bring her to life during that time.

Let's see...I also liked how Hawkes offered to share his Cheetos, how compassionate Stella was with the victim's mom, and how Lindsay, tiny though she is, helped (the best she could) Mac stop that runner.

In episode four, I loved the San Genarro festival setting. The bar scene where Lori Petty's character tells the story of how her place got trashed was hilarious: the editing, how we didn't hear her tell the story, just saw it, Stell and Danny's reaction shots, Lori's reaction to _their_ reaction as she grabbed the bottle of alcohol and told them that was how it happened. It was another favorite moment, so far, of the season. I also liked the vibe of Danny and Stell working together in this. They've worked together before, but this was just, idk, nice, funny...

Speaking of which, liked how both Mac and Danny brought up how much they liked the cannolis at the festival.

Minnesota Fats ref.= bonus points.

Liked how familiar with chess Hawkes was. It was sad how that poor kid died.

Episode five, "Sleeping with the Fishes," written by Eli Talbert, is, so far, my favorite of the season (the second being the second ep., "Grand Murder at Central Station," written by the awesome Zachary Reiter, if you couldn't tell—again, so many funny one-liners).

First of all, Sid's first ep. Woot! Mac and Stella finally work a case together. Season one spoiled me because they worked together so much (sigh). We learn more backstory about Stell being interested in dancing and taking lessons as a kid. Also, Flack plays the lottery. Haha pretty cute. ('All it takes is a dollar and a dream...I'm a dreamer, too.') IDK, it softened him up a bit, like the superstition in the season one episode where he was wary about ghosts. Flack is funny, and tough, but he's kinda closed off and this sort of thing made him more accessible and likable to me.

'Death by swordfish...man, I love being in the field.' Interesting case, and I like Hawkes in the field, too.

Sid's ramble about black-finned snapper, and Danny's reaction.

Oh, I really liked how impressed Mac and Flack were with Stella's dance moves in the lab. Very nicely done. Again, it was both the writing and the acting that brought this scene home for me. Mac's reaction was my favorite part of it though. Some great acting there.

On a side-note, wardrobe did great with Stella's outfits. She was so gorgeous in this ep.

Love how Lindsay handled herself with the aggressive uniformed cop on the tram.

Ciara, '1, 2, Step.' Throwback. Enjoyed it.

Danny's reaction to investing in your kids (at first, at least, haha)...sounds like he'd be a good father, and that is attractive.

Danny: Would you eat anything that came outta the Hudson? Hawkes: Good point. (Humorous, plus we get a little Danny backstory here, too).

Annddd, my favorite scene of the episode: Lindsay, Stell and Mac in the office doing the experiment. I love how Mac and Stell are standing there, discussing, facing the windows together, I love how Linds entered and Stella looked back behind herself like, 'Where'd she come from.' How Stella egged him on to be the lab rat, i.e., 'It's for science.' (Haha Gary and Melina played that part so well.) The chemical was interesting, too. Overall, great acting job by all three, loved the concept and execution of the writing here, as well. (Mac: ...smells like vanilla. Stella: Really? Mac: Yeah—again both the writing and the acting brought this bit home.) Just good, good stuff here. Enjoyed it immensely.

The scene where Mac and Stell watch Lindsay interrogate, just like Mac and Stell discussing together in his office above, just gave off a parental vibe. I liked it and wish they would've done something with these two. I'm telling you, guys, it would've been _so_ good.

Finally, how Lindsay caught the suspect out in a lie by the aging of the bruise—nice.

Second side-note: I remembered something while starting season two. I remembered that one of my favorite, all-time _CSI: NY_ writers was Pam Veasey. I looked up her episodes a lot when I watched the show through the first time, and realized she was a favorite. You know one thing (not the only thing, to be sure) that I really loved about her eps.? She never forgot us Stella/Mac shippers. She stayed carefully within the set parameters of friendship with them, but she always threw us a bone. Some of my favorite Mac/Stella moments were in her eps. She was awesome. I wish the _CSI_ writers had Twitter accounts so I could thank them belatedly for all the great writing they did for us, but, unfortunately, I joined the party far too late.

I looked her up and found/read three old, short articles/interviews with her. She seems like a pretty cool person. Also, I found out that she wrote a pilot for five single black women police officers living in NYC dealing with the job, life, etc. I'm not doing justice to the premise, but it sounded really interesting. I would've given it a try back when I actually still watched network TV. Too bad they didn't pick up the option on it...

There are a couple of small references to "Grounds for Deception" in here. I have no doubt you guys will recognize them.;)

I want to give a shout out to my new reader from Deutschland—woot! Thanks for giving me a read. You are awesome.:)

Finally, I wanna say thanks to all my regular readers for sticking with me. I know you don't have to, and I know there's weaknesses in my story. Hey, it's my first one, it was bound to happen. But you guys are giving me a chance anyway, and I appreciate that so much. Thanks, guys.

And now, without further ado...

* * *

**Chapter Seven**

"_...My life was torn like wind-blown sand_

_Then a rock was formed when we held hands_

_Sunny one so true, I love you_

_Sunny,_

_Thank you for that smile upon your face_

_Sunny,_

_Thank you for the gleam that flows with grace_

_You're my spark of nature's fire_

_You're my sweet, complete desire_

_Sunny one so true, yes, I love you..." _

\- Bobby Hebb, "Sunny"

Mac Taylor quickly traversed the front porch steps with a spring in his step, whistling a tune. If he had thought about it, he would've noticed that the tune was Bobby Hebb's "Sunny." He also would've realized it was Stella who'd inspired that particular song to be in his subconscious that day and the implications of that.

But that bright, sun-soaked morning, with the perfect light breeze and the birds singing merrily in the quiet neighborhood, as he'd walked the sun-dappled sidewalk in front of the house, the trees above him swaying softly in the sky (as if God were running his giant hand over them, enjoying them from his vantage point as well), he didn't care to think deeply. He loved the smell of the fresh mowed grass, rich and bright green, in the air. He just felt good. And, for once, he hadn't wanted to examine it to death—he just wanted to quietly enjoy it.

It had been two and a half months now, and they'd settled into a routine. There was danger still lurking in the shadows. Uncertainty. But while darkness still constantly hovered at the edges of their lives, there were no corpses to study, no murderers with their sordid motives to seek out; there was no Sinclair breathing down his neck, no more deadlines and long nights of insomnia, no more going home to a cold, black, empty apartment.

There was instead, even in the midst of this tenuous situation, rife with danger, a sort of a fresh start. One that had been forced upon them, but that had ended up bringing unexpected goodness and grace into his and Stella's lives. A large portion of it was the company and the change of job.

The job was the same in the sense that he was still helping clean up the streets, making the world a better place for others around him, which was his calling, no matter his particular occupation over the years. But it was different because he wasn't the boss responsible to, and for, so many people: responsible for his co-workers, or to the victims and their families, to the higher-ups, the people of Manhattan. He wasn't carrying the same weight he'd carried on his shoulders for countless years—a weight that had grown exponentially heavier year-by-year, and had hollowed him out into a husk of a man. Instead, there was a freshness to his duties.

And there was also constantly being around his best friend, his blood brother, fighting side-by-side just like old times. And then there was Stella. They were closer than ever. Not just working together, but sleeping in the same house, eating dinner together every night, laughing and joking intimately, flirting, teasing, drawing closer without realizing it because it was so natural. (What had been _un_natural was the way they had drawn a line and made sure no one crossed it.) And this was happening constantly, attacking and tearing down all the walls he'd re-erected after the loss of Christine.

Persistently being around the two people he knew and loved best, well, that changed the landscape of his predictable, dreary life considerably, without anyone really, consciously meaning it to.

Being fully known and knowing the other two fully—there was nowhere to really hide—nothing he could really get past them. But somehow, it was okay. Probably because the three trusted each other completely. Being around consistent love and amiable companionship did things to a man. He couldn't retreat behind that shell constantly, withdraw into himself and his pain and charcoal memories. And so Mac started to almost regenerate, become more like he used to be, before all the scars and the ravages of life had torn away large, jagged pieces of his heart bit by bit.

He stepped inside the house quietly, set his keys down in the accustomed place and walked over to the kitchen, small brown paper bag in hand. Peeking inside, he saw it was empty. So, he cast his gaze around the area and saw the door to the back porch open. A light gleamed in his eyes as he walked forward and stood stealthily in the doorway, then leaned against the door jamb, one hand in his pocket, taking in the scene before him.

There she was: 'the woman in his life,' aptly named by whomever had seen her as a baby, Stella. Stella meant star, and a star was really a sun—a sun with the gravity to hold planets in its brightly shining sway. That was her: irresistible. Full of life and light, and beauty and mystery and strength. Stella.

She was there, bustling around a table on the porch adorned with a white linen tablecloth, sunlight spilling on her face, caramel-colored skin warm and smooth as silk, slender, curvy figure gracefully shifting here and there. He contemplated everything: the slope of her beautiful neck, her light tawny curls pulled up, loose, silky ringlets at the base of her neck softly blowing around in the playful breeze. He took in her sweet, lovely face, her pink mouth curved up in a beatific smile, her straight nose. Her eyes (one of his favorite features of hers) reminded him of the sun pouring into a green sea, illuminating a hundred different facets of beauty. The sheer pulchritude of the scene (the woman) made him breathless for a moment. And Mac Taylor marveled that he, lucky bastard that he was, could be graced with such a treasure in his life.

There were cups and plates, blue as a robin's egg on the table. There were also linen napkins in bright red beside the plates, and warm, fresh baked bread, the smell filling his nostrils and making his stomach growl. There was butter, yellow as the sun, creamy white milk and hot coffee and crisp bacon and fresh, ripe strawberries in a bowl that she arranged in a place easy to reach for the two of them.

Stella popped a small strawberry in her mouth, her lips already reddened from sampling a couple previously. She was barefoot, tan ankles and feet, toes painted pink, wearing a soft, white, cotton sundress, with red and pink roses on it, the skirt of it swayed around her legs and the top dipped pleasantly below in front, showing her smooth tanned skin and a hint of a lovely curve of soft breast, when she leaned forward, putting the finishing touches on their_ al fresco_ breakfast.

All at once, he was overwhelmed by the powerful wish that he was a painter or a sculptor by occupation—instead of a scientist and a cop—so he could freeze this moment in time and keep it, and the feelings it wrought, with him forever.

He was a well-read man, if not a necessarily loquacious one, and in his somewhat encyclopedic brain, he recalled Georgia O'Keefe had once expressed, "I found that I could say things with colors and shapes that I couldn't say any other way—things I had no words for." This was that sort of moment that could only be captured by a picture or sculpture, by colors and shapes and light, not by words, and only somewhat by music.

His only artistic expression was in jazz music. And he loved it. But only an artist gifted by God, one of the greats, like Michaelangelo, someone like the creator of the _Pietá_ and the _David_, could capture her the way she should be captured and preserved. Only a master painter, deft with color, could capture the bronzes and the pinks of her, the reds and olive greens and textured golds—gold he knew resided not only in the highlights of the swirly locks of her hair, but also in the flecks of her green eyes, as beautiful as a sunny Mediterranean Sea. They reminded him of the vivacity of the play of light in the green, foam-topped waves that carried the goddess in Cabanel's _Birth of Venus_, those luminous eyes.

After these observations, he came out onto the porch and plopped the bag on the tabletop. It made a crinkly sound as it shifted and Stella looked up at him from where she stood at the edge of the table. Her eyes caught the gift sitting there that he'd procured, and she walked over to peek into the bag. Then, a light shone in her eyes as she gasped in delight, rushing over to grace him with an enthusiastic hug.

"I thought you were still in the shower, or, at least getting dressed. How did you know we were out of creamer, and how did you sneak out of the house without me knowing?"

As she turned and peeked again into the bag, noticing he'd purchased not only creamer, but her absolute favorite brand, her phrases tumbled over themselves, expressing her joy far more eloquently than her mere words could've.

He'd noticed last night she was out, and he'd woken up earlier than usual that morning and decided he wanted to do something to make her happy. It was as simple as that. Not that he'd say it out loud.

Mac grinned as she turned back to him and placed a warm, soft hand on his cheek and said, "You are a lifesaver, Mac. Thank you so much."

The tips of his ears reddened in pleasure at her words (and the touch of her hand). He shrugged and stated simply, "It's just creamer, Stell. Not like I'm a hero, or anything."

Stella, still close, hand now removed from his cheek, caught his downcast eyes with hers, drawing his gaze irrepressibly up again—and, serious for a moment, said quietly, "You _are_ a hero. You're my hero." Then, just as suddenly as a capricious goddess in Greek lore, she turned playful again. She smirked and added, "...and if everyone I come in contact with today knew what you'd done for them, they'd thank you, too."

"Oh really?" He gazed at her and felt slightly hypnotized by the back and forth of the multitude of various emotions she had evoked within him in such a short span of time.

"Oh yeah. Trust me, I need my morning coffee in all its warm, sweet, creamy glory, or I'm seriously unfit for the public."

"Coffee is coffee. If worse came to worse, you coulda had it with a little milk...doesn't have to be all froufrou." Mac was enjoying this exchange as much as she was. He tried to suppress a grin, knowing that, by seemingly diminishing her coffee preference, he'd just upped the ante, fired a shot across her bow that she would not ignore.

Stella stared at him a moment, and muttered something under her breath, shaking her head.

"What was that?" he asked, cupping a hand behind his ear, as if to hear her better.

"I SAID, what else should I expect from a man who is perfectly satisfied with drinking Marine grade motor oil for breakfast every morning."

"It's a manly drink for manly men," Mac challenged blatantly, sounding gruff, his eyes, glimmering with mirth, the only betrayal to his real state of mind.

Stella raised an elegantly shaped brow, and said in mock derision, "Manly, huh?" She let her gaze drift over him from head to foot, and then, with an indifferent shrug said, "Maybe. But, what was that Jer used to say...? Oh yeah, something about leathernecks, much like two-year olds, being connoisseurs of crayon flavors?"

"Watch it, Bonasera."

Stella placed a hand on her hips and gesticulated with the other in the sarcastic way only a native New Yorkian could. "Ooh, I'm really shakin' here." Mac took a step toward her and her smile widened as she backed up a step, continuing lightly, unabashedly, "Tar water with two sugars, I believe, is the swill that you pass off for coffee, isn't it? Really says a lot about Marines and their taste buds."

"Don't make me hafta confiscate the creamer and return it from whence it came. 'Cause I will."

"Ha! You and what army, Taylor?"

"That's it!" Suddenly, swiftly, Mac swept Stella up in his grasp, his large arms like bands of steel trapping her and lifting her off the ground. He grinned and swung her around as she threw her head back. The intoxicating lilt of her laughter gurgled out of her throat like the bubbles rising up in a glass of freshly poured champagne.

She looked down into his eyes and giggled again. "Well, this definitely changes everything, tough guy."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Now I know _for_ _sure_ how right I was about the degradation of your palate," she tossed out, suppressing a smirk.

He placed her back down. To him, she looked stunning, breathless from delight. She was backed against the side of the house and he had one muscular arm each next to her face, effectively trapping her in between them. He was in her space, his face perilously close to hers. Both stood there unflinchingly, both stubborn and determined not to back down in their game, paying no heed to where it was careening towards. Delicious, flirtatious tension thickened the air. They both felt a little giddy from the headiness of releasing long-pent up feelings so overtly, of being so free, unencumbered there.

"By the way, I don't need an army, Stella, I'm a Marine. It only takes one to get 'er done," he rejoined, and gave her a supremely cocky smirk.

Stella quickly regained her composure, and scoffed, "Typical jarhead. All talk, no pr—"

And, all at once, Mac was there, inches from her mouth, hovering. A curious look and a muddle of various undefinable emotions burned in his intelligent gray-green eyes as he gazed at her, first her eyes, then her lips. And then, slowly, he closed the distance between them...and finally kissed the soft, sweet lips of Stella Bonasera, his partner and best friend of countless years. He'd wondered, irrepressibly, innumerable times for many of those years what she would taste like if he ever kissed her. Much as he tried not to contemplate, to dwell, he couldn't stop the thought from occurring from time to time, no matter what he did, or how quickly the thought was suppressed (and the desire staunched).

Now he knew.

She tasted like the sun-ripened strawberries she'd munched on while preparing breakfast, and she tasted purely feminine and...and something else, something magnetic and fiercely irresistible (like the intense gravity of a newly formed neutron star)...something his foggy scientific mind needed to define clearly, so he could always remember when he went back into the exile of those harshly cold, lonely nights.

What was it...?

Mac's kiss, at first gentle and quisitive, probing, deepened as his lips became demanding, hungry against her soft, pliant mouth, and she opened herself to him, allowing his firm tongue to touch hers. He grunted and, instinctively, his broad arms (the ones she'd always loved around her, always found solace in) abruptly fell from the siding of the house and wrapped her up, gathered her closer to himself, her womanly curves pressed into his hard manly planes and he eagerly swallowed a soft, little moan from her.

And then, he felt what seemed like a bolt of lightning shudder roughly through his frame from his mouth to his toes and, just as swiftly, he realized what the other flavor was that she tasted of...sun-ripened strawberries and love.

That was it. Unmistakably. Love.

And as soon as that word came out of soft focus in his mind and into sharp relief, he summoned the strength gained from years of living mostly like a monk after the loss of Claire and tore himself away from her lips.

Both Mac and Stella stood there panting, dazed, looking at each other in shock and intensity, and wonder. She felt a buzz of pleasure all over (as did he) and her chest, above the sundress was lightly flushed. Her lips were pinker than before (from his kisses) and it was all he could do, taking in the sight before him, not to go back for more.

Subconsciously, he'd always known it would be that way with her, if he ever let himself kiss her. He never feared it wouldn't stand up to his quick flashes of fantasy or the dreams he couldn't suppress. And he'd been right, it far surpassed his brief imaginings. A latent addiction had formed.

Mac lowered his gaze and pulled away from Stella, needing actual physical distance from her to muster the strength to stay away from her. And she understood, because again, her feelings mirrored his.

A few moments later, after the two respectively gathered their thoughts and emotions back up (and let their thrumming heartbeats slacken their pace), Mac piped up, "Sorry, Stell, I—"

Before he could finish, he was interrupted by Big Tony's jovial voice.

"What are you two kids up to out here?"

Stella shifted away from the siding she still stood against and turned a bright smile toward Big Tony. "Oh, nothing important. Taylor here's just being his usual annoying self. Big surprise, huh?"

Big Tony walked up to Mac, who he was already fond of, and slapped him on the back. "What's a matta? Can't help bein' a big idiot around the lovely Stella here? Huh, kid?"

Mac's famous, long-ago perfected, schooled mask was back in place and he jocularly added, "I was just putting into practice tips I got from watchin' you with the ladies. Turns out they're duds. Go figure."

Big Tony laughed at that, his laughter full and round like his waistline.

"Would you like some breakfast, Big Tony? I made plenty," Stella offered.

Big Tony cast his gaze upon the lovely feast on the table and grabbed a slice of fresh bread, slathering it with a dollop of golden butter and biting into it. At the taste, his eyes rolled back in his head and closed blissfully.

"Good?" Stella inquired.

"More than good." He took another bite and swallowed. "Stella, why don't you give up this sordid life and run away and marry me?"

Stella's laugh lilted out again, and Mac felt a sudden flash of sensations and images wash over him: soft mouth, sun, strawberries, smooth, tanned skin, a feminine moan swallowed by a ravenous kiss, a shudder shaking him to his toes, and he started aching intensely for another kiss. He rubbed the back of his neck and vehemently stifled the urge, forcing himself to focus on the current moment and Big Tony. He'd missed Stella's reply and Big Tony had already finished the last bite of his slice of bread.

"Come on, Mac. You know how Gianni feels about tardiness."

Mac nodded and hurried out after Big Tony into the house, calling over his shoulder, without looking at her directly, before he completely left the back porch, "See ya later this evening, Stella."

Outside, the two got into Big Tony's old silver Cadillac and Tony put the keys into the ignition and started it. After they'd made it out of the neighborhood and into the stream of traffic, Tony broached a subject he'd been thinking of all that time.

"Mac, not for nothin', but...I was like you once. Stubborn, set in my ways, convinced I knew what I was doin'. "

"What do you mean, Tony?" Mac, contrary to his words, suspected what Big Tony was referring to, and shifted uncomfortably. He rolled down his window to get some fresh air into the car.

"Don't kid a kidder, Mac."

Big Tony was the best of all of Gianni's gang. He was a criminal, but, of the rest, he was the least offensive, the most human. A lifer, he was still in the game because he'd never known anything else. He'd killed before, made his bones, but despite the scene that greeted them in the alley when they first became embroiled in this mess, he hadn't actually killed in years. He'd stolen, and dealt in his earlier days, mostly, but these days, he was more there for the bottom rung legwork and the connections he had. He was old school, old-fashioned.

He referred to Mac as 'kid' all the time, as he was many years Mac's senior. Mac didn't mind so much. He also seemed quite affectionate toward Mac and Stella. He'd mentioned before that Mac reminded him of himself when he was young. Maybe that was why. Whatever the reason, he'd sorta taken the two under his wing, as much as he could.

"I know I'm gettin' up there, kid. But I've seen a lot of life and learned at least some things in my sorry existence. I've seen my share of death and loss, experienced it myself with a particular woman. You know, The One. That one woman who drives you crazy in so many ways that you just can't live without her. She was feisty...strong, beautiful...like your Stella. She actually proposed ta _me_." He chuckled and shook his head at the memory, his eyes filled with bittersweet reflections. Then he sighed. "But I thought that gettin' married at my age was stupid. I was too old. And I could never seem to make it work long term with the opposite sex. Not once. I told her better that she should find someone else...I actually loved her, ya know? As much as a man like me could love someone else. And I did it more for her than for myself."

Mac nodded mutely in response, waiting for the rest to come.

"But even that, even me letting her go, ended up bad in the end. She lived miserable and alone tha rest of her days. Died before me. Where's the justice in that, I ask you?"

Big Tony grabbed a cigarette out of the package from his center console and lit up. He took a deep puff, preoccupied with ghosts (as insubstantial as the smoke curling in his lungs that moment) for a short time, before continuing.

"Anyway, I've been watchin' Stella; she's truly a good woman, Mac. I've seen a lot of 'em in my life, all sorts. She's gorgeous, yeah, but she's also smart, tough, got a big heart, and she's classy, somethin' that's rare these days in women. Don't get me wrong, there's a lot of good women out there, just like there are men, they all have a lotta good things about 'em, but class, that's somethin' I used to see a lot back in my day, and...well, it's a vanishing trait...but Stella has it."

"Stella is one of a kind." A big piece of Mac hated discussing this. But another piece of him was proud of her, _his_ best friend and ex-partner. That Big Tony was wise enough to see her for what she was truly worth...well, it made his pride in her run even deeper.

"She means somethin' to you. More than an old neighborhood pal who does jobs with you. More than friends." It was a statement, an observance, not a question.

Mac groped for words a moment. "She's...special...complicated," Mac finally acknowledged candidly. "But I don't think we'll ever be more than what we are right now."

Tony took another long drag off his cigarette and ashed out the window before continuing.

"Not ta push it, but, if there's one thing I know about, it's regrets, Mac. I'm a fuckin' expert on those. If I knew then what I know now..." Big Tony shook his head. "This life...gettin' in with the 'right' people, all of Gianni's plans for power and prestige...it ain't worth it, man. You seem like a pretty good kid for someone in this business." Tony eyed him through his peripheral and then turned his gaze back to the road. "So, I'm curious as to why you're tryin' ta get in deeper in this world. You have it all, Mac: a good woman, a good head on your shoulders... Take it and run with it. Make a new life. It's not too late for you."

Big Tony honked loudly and flipped off a cabbie who cut him off. After getting his bearings once more he briefly glanced over at Mac again, before returning his focus to the traffic ahead of him.

"Where was I? Oh yeah...a good woman, a coupla _bambinos_, or _bambinas_, as the case may be. Dat's tha real stuff there. Not condemning yourself to an early grave in this God-forsaken business, and for what? Scratchin' and clawin' for more power and money the rest o' your life, 'cause the quest for power and to keep it never really ends. And maybe you succeed a little, _maybe_, but even with that, you're always lookin' over your shoulder, waitin' for a cop to finally get you, or a rival gang member, or maybe even someone close to you. It's cutthroat, this life. There really is no peace for the wicked, my friend."

The conversation concerning her made Mac start thinking of Stella again. He thought of her addictive kisses. Thought about how crazy she made him, with anger sometimes (rarely), but mostly just crazy happy, crazy distracted, crazy turned on. What man in his right mind wouldn't be turned on by her? And Mac had been constantly exposed to her off and on for over twenty years. It was inevitable that he would have a masculine reaction to her on occasion. Also, he could internally admit to himself this once, after the realization he'd made on the porch while kissing her, she made him crazy in love.

She was a force of nature.

He _did_ love her. She was his closest friend and confidante. She filled his thoughts constantly. Far more so now that he had not so many ways to distract himself from her these days. He didn't want to let himself think of her. But Big Tony's words conjured up the alluring thoughts and made the piercing longing for her deep inside him rise to the surface.

"She'd make you a wonderful wife. And she likes you, I can tell, ya know? Can you imagine her pregnant? _Madonna mi_, eh? There's something about a woman, glowin' and beautiful, carryin' your child...does somethin' to a man..."

Unfortunately, he _had_ pictured it a couple of times...and quickly sublimated it. Like everything with her, there were too many ways to get sucked in. He wanted to fall into her, into her kisses and arms and never come out again. But life didn't offer that kind of guarantee—the guarantee of forever. How bitterly well he knew. And he knew himself, knew he'd fucked up all his relationships that mattered after Claire. No, the solitary life was all he was fit for, much as he longed for something quite different.

Big Tony saw Mac's expressions eventually fade into determined resistance and said, "Don't grow up to be a miserable old man with nothin' ta show for it in your later years."

Mac's resolve, briefly shaken between Big Tony's words and the kisses he'd shared with her that morning, now remained firmly fixed. Tony saw this and sighed.

"Alright, I won't bother you about it again, kid. I said my piece...just 'cause I like ya, Mac. And because...I wish someone coulda told me what I just told you when I was younger and I woulda listened." He grimaced to himself. "Woulda probably had the same reaction you just had, though." He took one more drag off his cigarette and threw it out the window, blowing a plume of smoke out after it. "Eh, maybe I'm gettin' soft."

Mac, deflecting, eyed his stomach pointedly and said, "Maybe."

Big Tony shifted the car over a lane in the busy traffic and smirked. "Get outta here."

They spent the rest of the trip in contemplative silence.

"_I been alone_

_All the years_

_So many ways to count the tears_

_I never change_

_I never will_

_I'm so afraid, the way I feel_

_Days when the rain and the sun are gone_

_Black as night_

_Agony's torn at my heart too long_

_So afraid_

_To leap, and I fall, and I die"_

\- Fleetwood Mac, "I'm So Afraid"


	9. Chapter 8

_**Lily**_: So, um, your review gave me life, pretty much. I _loved_ your enthusiasm. Those sorts of feelings are exactly what I was going for. So thank you so very much, beautiful Lily. :)

LOL'd at you wanting to shake Mac. Well, you know, it seems very Mac to me, after all he's been through and where he is rn in his life, and given his past behavior. But I can understand the frustration.

Yeah, Big Tony has his heart in the right place. I also loved how you were understanding about his fear but said he needed to work through it. Haha Again, that sort of feeling was what I was going for. As for what it's going to take...well, you'll see.;)

_**K**_: Thanks so much for your reviews, my lovely, dear K. I know rl gets busy and the fact that you made time to post this means a great deal to me. Yeah, Mac's gonna have some pretty hard times coming up.

Re: the domestic moments, they're a nice respite as well as, for all the M/S shippers out there, an attempt to give them the type of fun, nice shippy things they never got but would've really liked to have had in the show.

Haha about the hotness. Can you imagine if the shippers got an actual on-screen kiss with them? This is just me writing it. The added bonus of Gary and Melina's acting (not to mention being written by one of the great _CSI: NY_ writers) would've made _a lot_ of people very happy. (I've seen it before in other fandoms, as I'm sure you have). As for hot...eh, let's say warm. The hotness is yet to come. Also, you're right. Stella is sorta both. How that unfolds precisely will eventually be revealed. ;)

_**Re-watch**_: On this front, it's been a much busier week this week and I've only gotten three more episodes into season two.

I found episode 6, "Youngblood," good, what exactly the weapon was that was used for the elevator killing was intriguing. The older guy liking really younger girls creeped me out. In fact, the bad guys all around in this, the guy mentioned above, the two entitled kids and the young girl who was so harsh at rejecting the car attendant were all pretty repellent. And while the car attendant was bad, too, Timothy J. Lea, made me understand how he could feel so angry by the way he was treated. I thought the writing in this was sensitive, nuanced and observant.

"Manhattan Manhunt" was very enthralling almost the entire length of the show. Very fast paced, they packed a lot in, but did it well, I feel. It was cool seeing Horatio. I like how Mac picked up a package for a lady in the subway that was knocked out of her hands by a careless fellow passenger. Even in the midst of trying to locate where the killer was, he still made time to be a gentleman and show kindness to a stranger. It was a small scene, but told a lot about his character. And it made me like and respect him more.

There were two humorous parts in here I enjoyed, one of those was Stella talking about how much she loved the 'little blue boxes' from Tiffany's. The second was the whole parental thing going on with the sister who went on a shopping spree. The way Mac and Stella waited outside and dealt with her was pretty humorous.

Mac's fury about the murderer, his sense of justice, his anger about the loss of all those lives and how he made no excuses for the murders, even if he understood the perp's reasoning behind why he did what he did, was, again, very telling about his character.

This episode was probably meant to, sort of, showcase Mac, since this was the newest iteration of the _CSI_ franchise, and it did that pretty well. I liked and respected Mac in here, while it wasn't my overall favorite Mac episode of the series, it was a very good one and added to his character overall.

The eighth episode, "Bad Beat," was my favorite—not just of these three, but it replaces episode two making it my number two favorite, so far, of the season. I laughed _a lot_, and thoroughly enjoyed watching that episode—which is what all good entertainment should strive for (an enjoyable experience for the viewer). I looked up the writer, and it was none other than the wonderful Zachary Reiter. I really, really enjoy his writing, and I sincerely hope he's out there writing something as I write this. Talent that good should be shared, not wasted.

I loved the backstory of Stella and poker, but I thought it was funny and so apt how Flack called her out on her facial expressions. IDK, Stella is awesome, but it _is_ hard to believe—because she's so full of life and so expressive with, not only her face but her body, too, (e.g., her hands, shoulders, everything)—that she could keep up that poker face for long. Haha

Lindsay doing dumpster duty and asking how long the 'new girl stuff' was gonna last was another great moment. Poor Linds...you had to feel for her there, all hot, sweaty and digging in a trash can. Ugh...I couldn't do it. Mac's response was funny, too, "Better than sifting through tiger dung."

Flack canvassing the apartment building, questioning witnesses—I laughed a lot at this. Poor guy. Especially, with the hairy, chubby guy holding a beer, scratching his furry chest, standing in his underwear and tilting his head to the side and smiling. OMG! It was _so_ hilarious. And how Flack closes the door _himself_ this time, saying, "Nevermind." Perfect. Nice bit of acting there by Eddie Cahill... and, have I mentioned how much I love Zachary Reiter's wit and humor? Yep.

The cigar merchant and how Flack broke the expensive Havanas, another funny moment, and overall good scene. (Flack, after snapping a Cuban in half and sniffing it: Hey, Stell... Stella: Yeah. Flack: That smell Cuban to you? Stella, after sniffing the cigar: Can't tell. Better break another one.) Good stuff there.

Adam! I love him. He's such a big, sweet, goof-ball, while still being very knowledgeable. This was his first ep. working his magic with the old VCR tape. And then the way the boys just watched the 'walrus documentary' morph into a sex tape, and all tilted their heads at the same moment, and Lindsay walking by. (Lindsay to Danny: Footage from your thirtieth birthday party, Messer? Danny: Walrus documentary, actually.—haha) Man, Zach was on fire with this ep. Just going over my notes to share this makes me want to re-watch this episode again.

Danny interrogating the perp and getting up behind him menacingly was something new, but good.

I think Flack had the best scenes in this episode. Really enjoyed his bits of humor sprinkled in here.

Want to say thanks again to my lovely, faithful readers from all over the world of this fic. To the wonderful peeps from the US, UK, Deutschland, Brazil, Portugal, España, France, Sweden, Belgium, Poland, Canada, Argentina, Italia, South Africa (a newbie—thanks!), Venezuela, Puerto Rico, and, last but not least, another newbie, Peru (thanks to you, too!:)). You guys are all very much appreciated.:)

From the story stats, chapter 4 and the last chapter seem to be be favorites. So, I'm happy you guys liked those so much.

Finally, this chapter is pretty light in tone. There are darker ones coming soon. This also has a mix of the mafia/dealer stuff and Mac and Stell. It's more of a Stell-POV chapter in the second half. I've done a lot of this from Mac's POV, and we have seen a little of Mac having a bit of awkwardness/jealousy and having to deal with his emotions concerning Stella, and I wanted Stella to have something of the same in this chapter, to sort of...IDK, even the playing field.

* * *

**Chapter Eight**

"_...I've seen the wicked fruit of your vine_

_Destroy the man who lacks a strong mind_

_Human pride sings a vengeful song_

_Inspired by the times you've been walked on..." _

\- Creed, "What If"

Stella and Mac were mingling. Something neither of them cared much for—especially, since they were mingling at Salvatore Terranova's home.

Terranova was giving a big, private party for his family and 'business associates.' There was to be a large dinner soon, and there was music from an unobtrusive band playing in the background. He was the head of a New Jersey crime family, the one Gianni had gotten in with and was now trying to negotiate a merger, of sorts, with for a profitable scam that would cover territories controlled by both Terranova's family and the Reinas.

That was why they were there—dinner and business. Gianni's small crew was there, invited out of courtesy. But the business end of it, well, that was taking place right then, between Terranova, his underboss and his consigliere, and Gianni and Tom. His consigliere, Randy, had pulled them aside to a quiet alcove, away from the crowd.

Salvatore had a brown, leathered face, eyes as black as oil, with deep lines bracketing his mouth. His dyed, dark hair was slicked back from his forehead. He wore an extremely pricy suit and pulled out an expensive Havana, that had been dangling from his mouth, and held it between two fingers. "'s it all set, Gianni?"

Gianni nodded. "My uncle agreed that this new business opportunity sounded quite lucrative. Asked me ta set up a time and place for a meet."

Terranova looked pensive a moment and nodded. "Dat's real nice, Gianni. But, before we meet, I need a favor from you."

Gianni looked a little uneasy at that moment. Then impatience, followed by a forced passive look, filled his eyes. He was so close to what he wanted he could practically taste it. And then Terranova had to put a further delay on things. But he knew better than to reveal his feelings to the man. "Sure. What do you need?"

"There's a dog I'd like you to extinguish." Terranova took another puff from his cigar slowly before continuing. "This person, Vito Salerno, is a small-timer, like yourself."

Tom saw Gianni flinch at this, obviously chafed by the condescension. If Terranova noticed, he made no indication of it, as he continued.

"Salerno wants a bigger piece of da pie, but doesn't want to pay up my share for workin' in _my_ territory. He's got some stones on him, I'll give 'im dat. He's been slowly, and methodically infringing on my business." Terranova made a gesture with his free hand. "As you know, it's not only highly disrespectful of him, but it's also bad for business to let him get away wit' it." He placed a hand on Gianni's shoulder and then grasped it firmly. "Take care of dis problem for me, and I'll take it as a personal favor. For me, it will seal the deal."

Gianni nodded. "I understand. Been havin' a little infringement problem of my own I've been dealin' with."

Terranova paused a moment and puffed contemplatively. "Yeah, I'd heard dat. Last I'd heard, he got one over on you."

Gianni scowled briefly. "He had. But, he's paying for it now. He's no longer going to be a problem for anyone."

"Good, good. Seems like I chose da right man for da job. I want Salerno and his three lieutenants outta my hair for good."

"Not for nothin', but why don't you just order one of your guys to do the hit?" Gianni asked respectfully.

"Keep dis to yourself, but, I'm already dealin' with an internal messy power struggle. I don't think it's wise to throw more tinder into da fire."

As Terranova finished telling Gianni he didn't want Salerno to get wind of their association and so, until the job was done, this was the last time they'd meet,

Gianni could scarcely contain his sense of triumph. Just one dealer and his three lieutenants to take care of, and then, he'd set up the meet. Once the deal was set and it started making money for the two bosses, he'd be made. After all this time, all his hard work, his plans were finally coming together.

He'd already informed his uncle of what he wanted in return.

* * *

Out in the party, in a large, expensively decorated room filled with crystal chandeliers, Mac and Stella stood next to each other, chatting, when Marie Terranova, to whom they'd already been briefly introduced, waltzed over. She eyed Mac flirtatiously and smiled.

"Hey there, sexy. What are you doin' over here buried in a corner all by yourself."

Stella and Mac eyed each other.

"Well, he's not _technically_ alone, he ha—" Stella said quietly, only to be interrupted by the flighty woman.

Marie glanced at Stella briefly and giggled. "Sorry, no offense." Then she turned to Mac and said, "What I meant to say was, a nice-lookin' guy like you should be out there mingling, giving the girls a break from all the uninteresting guys."

"Well, I—" Mac started, but Marie interrupted again.

"Seriously, you're not only very attractive, but I'm thinkin' you're smart and interesting, too."

Stella almost scoffed openly. Mac was indeed all those things, but Marie (who seemed obviously prone to snap judgments), had just met him, couldn't know what he was like. She glanced over at Mac and, at the expression on his face, almost dropped her mouth open in astonishment. _He's totally eating this up! I can't believe it, _Stella thought. _I need to get him out more._

"I bet you've served in the military before. I can tell. Military men always do somethin' to me." She sighed and glanced over him appreciatively once more.

She seemed a little flaky, but nice, so Stella was even more surprised to realize, suddenly, that the woman was irritating her—and the reason why. In all her time with Mac, she'd never once stooped to petty jealousy. She wasn't really the jealous sort, but she knew that was what she was feeling.

She eyed the woman speculatively, searching for something solid to dislike about her, and then, instantly ashamed of herself, cut off that line of thinking. The woman was pretty, seemed nice, if over-doing it a little on the flirting. But Stella was a beautiful woman herself, as many a man had let her know since she'd been in her teens. There was no reason for her to feel competitive with her.

Perhaps, she thought, it was because of her and Mac's newfound closeness, but, for the first time, she felt a bit insecure. She examined herself and knew that it must be the fear of not really knowing whether or not Mac was attracted to Marie. She could tell he was flattered, but, beyond that, she couldn't be sure, and it bothered her.

Just then, one of Marie's (apparently) good friends stopped by and eyed Mac and then Marie. "Hey, girl. Who's this? A new guy?"

Mac looked uncomfortable, as Marie blithely responded, "I _wish_." The two women smirked. "Just met him tonight. He's really nice though. Name's...what _is_ your name, by the way?" She giggled at herself. "I completely forgot."

"Mac," he answered briefly, embarrassed, but still flattered by the attention being laved on him at that moment.

Stella kept her grimace on the inside.

"Mac, I'm Marie, in case you forgot. My father's giving this little shindig... This is Nikki."

Nikki shook Mac's hand, keeping her hand in his a little too long for Stella's taste. "Nice ta meet'cha, Mac." She lowered her voice a little seductively when she'd said his name, and Stella wanted to roll her eyes out of her head right then.

Nikki reluctantly turned back to Marie and said, "Listen, I gotta talk to ya about somethin' private, real fast."

Marie shrugged and replied, "Okay." She turned to Mac. "_Don't leave_. We're not finished." She shot him a sensuous look.

"Catch ya later, I _hope_, Mac," Nikki added. As she left with Marie, she gave him a parting look like she was a coffee aficionado desperately needing a fix, and he was the last drink at Starbucks.

Stella could bear it no more—she snorted derisively.

"What?"

"What do you mean, 'what,' Mac?" she inquired. "You _liked_ that?"

Mac shrugged. "Sometimes it's nice when a pretty woman comes on to you."

Stella felt a little sting at this. They stood there awkwardly a moment. Marie winked at Mac from where she stood, and Mac nodded politely, hands balled in his pockets.

Finally, after a while longer, Stella murmured, "I'm sorry, Mac."

"For what, Stell?"

"I don't know. I guess...well, I can understand how someone like you, who buries himself in his work and doesn't get out much these days, could be flattered by two attractive women flirting with him, even if they were a bit aggressive."

"Buried in my work? Doesn't get out much these days? Gee, thanks, Stell." Mac took her words with good humor though.

"Well, it's true." Stella grinned. Then she grew serious and touched his shoulder. "You _do_ look handsome tonight, Mac." And he did. They were both dressed nicely for the party, and he happened to be wearing a nice suit with a blue dress shirt that enhanced the flecks of gray in his green eyes.

Mac looked uncertain at this. It had been awhile since she'd told him anything of the sort.

_What the hell was that, Bonasera? _"I just...noticed and thought it'd be nice to mention." She cleared her throat.

Mac nodded, amused and a little pleased, but still feeling a little of the awkwardness his friend of over two decades felt. She actually looked gorgeous herself that evening, and she smelt heavenly. He was consumed with these thoughts as Marie finally broke loose from Nikki.

Stella saw her returning and turned to Mac and straightened his tie a little (a possessive move, she knew, but tried not to think too closely about it), as Marie joined them.

Mac's ears reddened a bit and he grinned.

After Stella finished, Marie placed a hand on his bicep, ostensibly to pull him towards the dinner table. "Come on, sexy. You're sittin' next to _me_."

Mac shot Stella a look between flattery and bewilderment and let the woman haul him off. As they departed, Stella could hear Marie say, "By the way, those are some nice guns you have there." She smiled and looked up at him through her lashes.

Stella found herself feeling a decidedly un-lady like urge at that moment towards Marie, and determined she needed to go to the ladies' room and get a hold of her emotions.

By the end of the evening, she'd found that she'd been hardly able to tolerate the woman as Marie had simpered and fawned over Mac all night. And she knew that she hated feeling like that, like some insecure, unfair woman. But, though it had taken her some time, she'd finally come to terms with it by the end of the evening's festivities.

A short time after they'd left the house, at the car she and Mac had walked quietly to, the two heard a giggle break out across the darkness. Mac, who had been holding the door to the Avalanche open for Stella, looked over to where the sound came from, as did Stella. There, tipsy and nuzzling into the neck of some young man, was Marie.

Mac looked a little deflated.

"Easy come, easy go, Mac."

"No big deal," Mac responded, playing it off to Stella.

Stella shrugged, getting into the car. "Oh well, she doesn't know what she's missing. You're the whole package, Mac." She smiled irrepressibly, green eyes twinkling at him, and closed the door quickly—a little embarrassed by the implications of her statement just then.

Mac, who was surprised at first, walked around the truck and grinned.

As he drove them back to Tom's, they were both wrapped up in thoughts of their own. Mac, though he'd seemed distracted and out of his element at the party with the two women (and _had_ been a bit), had been completely aware of Stella the whole time. His thoughts had actually been on her most of the night, which would have surprised her to know.

Sure, he'd been gratified at the two women's attentions. But, he was happiest because of _Stella's_ reaction to their attentions. It showed him that she cared more than she cared to admit. And that did something to him deep inside for reasons he dared not probe for.

As they neared the house, Mac glanced at her through his peripheral vision. His last thoughts, before turning into the drive were, _Doesn't she know no other woman could truly compete with her in my eyes?_

"_...No you don't know the one_

_Who dreams of you at night_

_And longs to kiss your lips,_

_And longs to hold you tight_

_Oh, I am just a friend_

_That's all I've ever been_

'_Cause you don't know me..." _

\- Ray Charles, "You Don't Know Me"


	10. Chapter 9

Hey, peeps! How was everyone's week? Hope it was good, and I hope you are all doing well.:)

_**K**_-Ha! I like how you put it: 'green eyed monster attacked our green-eyed Greek.' Nice.

So, I love Stella and Mac equally. Both characters have a lot to like about them. And Mac's been the focus of this fic, therefore you get to see how he feels/experience what he experiences so much in it. Stella is indeed beautiful, full of light, and has so many other wonderful qualities—but so does Mac (e.g. he's brave, kind, unselfish...). And that can get lost when you only see things through one person's eyes (mostly). Plus, it makes Stella more realistic and identifiable if she has to struggle with something like insecurity—and the fact that she still rises above it makes you respect her.

I'm glad you laughed. That single sentence in your review is my very favorite. Thank you very much, my dear K.

_**Lily**_, how awesome is your review? Also, I feel the same way when I see you've posted a new chapter of your fic.;)

About the slight to Gianni: Well, Gianni is a man who goes by his emotions too much. Being treated the way he was by his family made him bitter—which is why I picked that lyric excerpt at the beginning of the last chapter. He is too weak to rise above his feelings and do the right thing, choosing instead to go with his latent angry, vengeful emotions. This is why he has the plans he has (which I go more fully into later in the fic). Often in life, I've found, to do the right thing you have to pay the cost of rising above your feelings. It takes strength to do that. So, that dig Terranova unwittingly lobbed at him just made Gianni more bitter. It's just one more hurt he keeps in his subconscious and uses it to fuel the bad things he does. And, as it goes in life, he'll pay for it.

There is definitely danger ahead. In fact, there's about three chapters until things start getting really dark. I'm not as good as you at it, but it's there... Glad you're looking forward to it. Haha

Thanks! I'm glad you liked that she told him he was handsome, and that you liked their exchange.:) I wanted to show Stella dealing with her emotions as she's done in the show. She has an understandable reaction in the circumstances, but she wants to do the right thing—which takes strength and goodness. This is what separates her from Gianni, in that respect. He took the bad things done to him in life and harbors them inside, and looks at people in a light colored by that. Stella had a rough life growing up, orphaned, living in foster care, but what did she do with what life handed her? She didn't take that and become bitter and angry at the world (and people). She took her life and made something good of it, made the world a better place by helping people find justice and closure with her job. She learned how to connect with people and help make a make-shift family at work, which blessed those around her. Her life has meaning, and she makes the world a better place by existing and trying to be good, unselfish, warm-hearted, sympathetic and gracious.

I guess it reminds me of Mac at the end of "Manhattan Manhunt." The bad guy brutally murdered multiple people because of how his abandonment made him feel. Mac understood how he could be angry about it, but he also made no excuses about how that made it okay for him to harm others. Well, there is the difference between Stella and Gianni. Everyone gets hurt by others in life. Everyone goes through pain. What you decide to do about it is what shapes your future.

Haha about Mac's guns. (It's been awhile since I've seen them, but I recall Gary—and therefore Mac—having nice arms). Also glad you liked the ending, too. Thanks again, sweet Lily.:)

Speaking of next chapters—ahem!—how is the next chapter of your fic going? _I'm_ looking forward to that!;)

_**Re-watch**_: Well, guys, it's been busy, and I've watched one more episode and started "Jamalot," but have only gotten a little into it, so, no re-watch notes this week.

**To my amazing, faithful readers from around the world**: You are appreciated more than you can know. Thanks for sticking with me, and thanks to my new readers for giving my fic a chance.:) Also, a special shout out to Singapore. Thanks for reading!:)

We're heading into rough waters ahead, you guys, but I hope you will trust me. There's going to be some darkness, some hotness (in the next chapter, amongst a couple of others), some violence, and also some good stuff (read: fluff). Remember, I love Mac and Stella, too. I want them to be happy, and I want them to be together, just like you.

This next chapter is small, but it sets up a lot of what's coming up afterwards. Part of Gianni's plan for taking out Salerno and his men is based on the O'Banion flower shop hit.

Have a great week, peeps!:)

* * *

**Chapter Nine**

"_...Measure not the work until _

_the day's out and the labour done; _

_then bring your gauges..."_

\- Elizabeth Barrett Browning, "Aurora Leigh"

Mac, Tom, Gianni, Sal, and Big Tony and Frank, had all just finished a very good meal of sumptuous Italian food at La Luna restaurant. Gianni, Tom and Big Tony were all puffing on their after dinner cigarettes, smoke swirling around the table and around the glasses of wine and beer scattered there, while Gianni instructed them as to what he wanted to happen next Wednesday, the day the meet was set for.

Sal had set it up. It had taken him a bit of networking, through a mutual 'friend,' who was more an acquaintance in Salerno's organization, but they'd eventually met, and Gianni had pitched a (fake) deal. Salerno had said he wanted time to think it over. Which was not unexpected. He'd eventually given the go ahead and had had his right hand man, Dominic, set up a meet with Sal to finalize plans and set up details to get things rolling.

"So, Wednesday, you're gonna go down there to Salerno's restaurant, La Scala, and you're gonna stay outta sight. Scope things out, wait a bit...make sure nothin' seems off. The meeting's not scheduled until eleven o'clock. Some of Salerno's guys might have tha same idea, decide to scope things out early, make sure we're not double-crossin' 'em." Gianni snorted at this—highly self-satisfied. "And I want your girl, Stella, in on this one, Mac. She's an unknown. No one will recognize her."

Big Tony, who'd been sitting next to him in the restaurant, gently punched his shoulder knowingly. He leaned over (while Gianni was busy talking) to gruffly, yet reassuringly, murmur, "Don't worry. I know how he's gonna play dis. I'll take care o' her for ya, kid."

Mac nodded and shifted uncomfortably, not happy with this turn of events. Up till now, Stella hadn't had to do anything for Gianni; he really hadn't had much use for her, as he'd told Mac awhile back. Maybe it was because she was a woman, and, being raised up in the family, he'd subconsciously followed the line of thought of the mafia that women weren't allowed—mostly. Mothers, sisters, wives, female cousins, whatever...they stayed out of 'business.' Very rarely was a woman allowed in, historically. Old habits. But Gianni wasn't back in the family yet, and as he was the boss of this small-time group of dealers, he didn't technically have to go by those rules.

Whatever the reason, she hadn't been used, and that had suited Mac just fine. Though, Stella had been torn about it, not wanting to be involved in criminal activity, or to sit on the sidelines watching it being perpetrated and be unable to do anything about it. On the other hand, she _did_ want to have Mac's back, and Tom's. She was also used to working five days a week, and had had a bit of trouble getting used to being at 'home' so much, without a formal job, so to speak. But, she accepted, with professionalism, that this was temporary and that everyone had a role in this operation—there were many ways to support the guys and help take down the bad guys.

Eventually, she'd adapted to her role and even enjoyed taking care of them in her own way. And, honestly, Stella was what helped get him through many days. Though she helped them both greatly, for Mac, she was his port in the storm, his haven.

But, now it seemed, if Stella was useful to him in a particular situation, then Gianni hadn't the least hesitation in using her. And so, Stella was going in on a job with them—and not just any job, this one involved the ostensible murder of a rival boss and his lieutenants. It could get messy. Mac knew he couldn't protest, though, without drawing undo attention to himself from Gianni, or pissing him off and possibly costing them their lives. They were on probation as it was. Mac still hadn't really proven himself, wasn't really 'in' yet. Gianni was a very careful, suspicious man and also a cold-blooded killer. He didn't need much of a reason to terminate them. He knew it was only because of Tom that Gianni hadn't just had them killed that night in the alleyway.

Bringing his focus back into the conversation, he heard Gianni continuing his orders.

"...Sal, Tom and Mac will bring up the rear. First, I'll have Stella go in, casual-like, check around. See if anything looks suspicious inside. Make sure it's not an ambush, none of Salerno's men lurking around to surprise us. Then I want her to signal at tha window and go to the kitchen. There shouldn't be many people there at that time of night—a cook and a couple of waiters, since they close at ten. She needs to keep all the employees in the kitchen, make sure some idiot doesn't try to use his phone, try to call in to alert Salerno." Gianni nodded towards Tom and asked, "Since she ran with you and Mac, back in your street thug days, I'm assuming she knows her way around a gun?"

Knowing he had to respond honestly (Stella might need to use her gun someday, and he didn't want any slip ups or contradictions), Tom, wearing carefully schooled features, calmly replied, "Sure, boss."

Mac shifted in his seat to hide his ire. He absolutely did not like to think of Stella as the expendable first string in a mob war. He almost decided to go ahead and speak up, ask if he could go in first instead, even though Salerno's gang might know his face, since he'd been hanging with Gianni's crew for a while now, which defeated the purpose. He opened his mouth, but then saw the look in Tom's eyes, and quickly shut it again.

Tom knew what his buddy was feeling, felt it himself, but he also knew Gianni, knew how capricious he could be with the lives of others when he was questioned. Gianni knew what he wanted, and his people did it. Period. If not, he made a violent example of them to the rest. It was his favored way of keeping them in line.

"Okay, then Big Tony and Frank will follow, shortly thereafter. Check around, make extra sure the restaurant's clean. No guns hidden anywhere or anything of that nature. This is a great deal for Vito, so I doubt he'd do somethin' stupid. But you know how I hate to take chances."

Big Tony nodded and Frank grunted in acknowledgement. Tom, Sal and Mac remained quiet, waiting for Gianni to continue.

"Once Big Tony and Frank come back out and give the all clear, you three will go in. I want all of you to memorize what these guys' faces look like. So that when they get there, you guys'll be ready for them. Go in one at a time. Sit near tha door. Let them get inside first before you shoot, but don't give 'em time to think, to grab their weapons. They should have their guard down since it's their home turf, and since Vito and I don't have a beef with each other. He has no reason to think this isn't legit. But don't let anyone get away, that includes any stray customer finishing up the last of their dinner, or it's your asses that'll pay."

Sal nodded in acknowledgment to Gianni, who took a deep drag on the cigarette he was smoking. He expelled a breath of smoke and then continued.

"Big Tony and Frank will be outside, waitin' in a car close by, in case they have anyone hidden on the street, and just in case any of them actually makes it outside." Gianni took one last drag from his cigarette and then crushed the stub out into the ashtray nearby. "Take care of business, then I want you guys outta there. No givin' the cops time to get there, or some witness on the street time to identify you. It'll be dark, and late, so I doubt you'll have much trouble with that aspect of it. I want this clean and quick, ya hear?"

"You got it, boss," Sal assured.

"No fuck ups. Everything is ridin' on this deal. If one of you fucks this up, I'll fuck _you_ up—personally. Got it?"

Mac tried not to think about Stella being there. He knew she was capable of handling herself, had done so in worse situations than this. He knew this, but he couldn't shake the uneasy feeling of something bad coming. It'd been hanging over his head like The Sword of Damocles for some time now. He felt they'd been too lucky all this time. Something had to give soon.

He shook his head to try to dislodge the thoughts tumultuously swirling around in his head. This was Stella. She was tough, resilient, smart. She'd breeze through this. This was Stella...

That was the issue though now, wasn't it?

Everything he'd listed off about her was true. But it was also true that she was a human being, with all the frailties a human being carried with them, and she was mortal... He clamped down on that line of thought again, knew better than to psych himself out before any mission. There was a higher chance of screw ups when you did that. Besides, knowing his luck, he'd be so busy keeping his eye on Stella that he'd mess up out there; he'd be the one more likely to get hurt or die. Or he'd screw up and get them all three killed by Gianni.

No, he just had to be careful to know his part, not lose focus and not kill anyone. The FBI would have some plan to back them up, so there'd be no killing. He could handle this. He was an ex-Marine, after all. He'd had to survive far more tenuous situations. Mac forced himself to relax, not overthink things, and decided to enjoy the rest of the evening with Stella when he got back to the house.

In his experience, that was always best before a dangerous mission.

"_...Enjoy the little things in life _

_because one day you'll look back _

_and realize they were the big things..."_

\- Robert Brault, _National Enquirer_


	11. Chapter 10

Hey, guys! Did you have a good week? I hope so.:)

_**K**_: Enthusiasm—love it!:) Well, you predicted before that Stella was both. You are right, of course.;)

I love "Snow Day." It's one of my favorite episodes of the entire series. The whole cast was used in good, interesting and absorbing ways. The plot was enthralling, too. Also, I remember seeing Mac get a real action scene in this, his fist fight with the head of the bad guys. The scene was choreographed quite well, and it really showed off Mac's hand-to-hand combat skills. Overall, it's an episode I can watch all the way through, over and over and not be bored/still enjoy it. Which is rare for me. ...Some great entertainment there.

Thanks so much for your lovely review, my dear, incomparable _**K**_.:)

_**Lily**_: You've had a busy and eventful week, I know. And I'm grateful you are always faithful in your reviews. You and _**K**_ are are generally amazing and wonderful people.:D I sincerely hope you realize this.:)

Oh really? Interesting. I wonder why (about the 'safe haven' thing)? I mean, some hackneyed sayings don't bother me at all, most actually. But some do... Is it sheer repetitiveness that makes it annoying? I wonder if it has to do with a negative experiential context associated with the cliché... It's interesting to think about.

It's true. They are both each other's weaknesses. It's what happens when you love each other, and, of course, work in a job that carries the dangers theirs does.

Yeah, Tom is a veteran, the one experienced in long term undercover ops. He comes in handy later...

So many great British writers...;)

Very insightful review, in-depth analysis and always worthwhile and enjoyable to read. (My favorites are when I really get to you emotionally. It makes me happy to bring you guys joy.) Thanks so much for the review, lovely _**Lily**_.

**Re-watch**: Again, it has been a busy week. I hope I will have a chance to do some watching next week (but there is Fourth of July—cookout, fireworks, family, the lake, woot!—and _Stranger Things_ season three coming out... I'm eager to watch more, though, so, I'll do my best).

**To my beautiful world-wide readers**: You are awesome and so, so appreciated. Thank you.:) And this week, a special shout out goes to my new readers from Hong Kong and Australia. Thanks for giving my story a try.:)

So, guys, judging from your favorite chapters thus far, I think you might like this one—it's very shippy. It also _definitely_ earns its 'T' rating. But it's detailed without being explicit, and hopefully gives you a good sense of how Mac and Stella feel, not just how much in love with each other they are, which is the most important part, but their attraction—another aspect of a well-rounded, real and robust love.

They already have a strong, close friendship built up over many years that endured. They also share some of the same interests and passions (i.e., for science and justice). They've been through the highs and lows together (Claire's death and Frankie come to mind). They fight sometimes, but are humble and wise enough to always make up. They know each other, respect each other (very important in a successful relationship), entertain each other, have fun together... Essentially, they have a very strong base for their love, an excellent one, which the show's writers (and Gary and Melina's acting) gave us. This is just a piece that we didn't get in the show. (Not that we probably would've to this degree anyway. But it sure would've been nice to have some hand holding, some kisses of different sorts, some snuggling, some fun, overt flirting, stuff like that.)

The second half of this chapter partly goes into how Mac and Stella came back into each other's lives. I briefly glazed over it in chapter one, but this chapter elucidates matters, and, of course, their feelings after taking a step like this.;)

Have a great week, you guys.:)

* * *

**Chapter Ten**

"_These arms of mine, they are yearning,_

_Yearning from wanting you_

_And if you would let them hold you,_

_Oh, how grateful I will be_

_These arms of mine, they are burning,_

_Burning from wanting you..."_

\- Otis Redding, "These Arms of Mine"

Mac and Stella were sitting cozily on the couch watching the Yankees play the Red Sox. Both were dressed comfortably, Mac in a well-worn, blue cotton shirt and a pair of dark jeans, while Stella wore a light, silky, loose-fitting burgundy-colored top with a pair of charcoal grey yoga pants. Mac still had his socks on, but Stella's barefooted, cranberry-painted toes were curled up under her.

He had showered when he'd gotten back from lunch, to wash the smell of stale cigarettes and beer off himself. (Also, latently, to wash off the feeling of associating with such men.) Then he'd gone over the plans for next Wednesday with Stella assiduously, so she knew her part, and they'd carefully studied the photos provided for them. After that, they'd talked a little more, Stella asking where Tom was, Mac informing her that he was out at a meeting with Scott. By that time, they decided to sit down and watch the game.

About halfway into it, both were growing famished and had decided to order in. There was a mom and pop restaurant nearby that served killer Chinese, and so they called them, placed their order and ate heartily when it came, enjoying it with a nice white wine, making sure to save some for Tom when he got back.

After they'd finished, they had washed the dishes amicably together, not taking long since they'd ordered take-out, and then had gone back in the living room to watch the next game. It was only about eight forty-five, and not yet dark, but dusk was setting in, and there was a candle on a side table by the couch putting out a nice, aromatic scent and adding a warm ambiance to the room with its glow.

When they had reentered the room and sat back down, they'd subconsciously sat closer to each other. Mac had his feet propped up on the smooth, wooden coffee table, his arm draped behind Stella's head on the back of the couch. Stella sat so close he could smell her—whether it was perfume, lotion, or her soap, he wasn't sure, he just knew she smelled incredible, like always—and they chatted quietly, easily together, occasionally making the other laugh.

All-in-all, it had been a nice evening, as Mac had hoped it would be.

During a commercial, Stella began talking to him of a scrape she and an old college friend had gotten into in her youth, and Mac tried to focus on her words, but he just kept getting distracted by her eyes, the beautiful green eyes that he'd looked into now for over twenty years, on and off, and that were not only as familiar as looking at his own in the mirror while shaving every morning, but he loved them (and the woman they belonged to). They were beautiful and expressive, with their little flecks of gold, brimming with warmth and light. After studying them for moment, nodding, to at least give the appearance of listening, his eyes dropped to his new favorite feature of hers to examine, her mouth.

She was smiling while recounting the story, and he watched it with alacrity. Her lips were curved perfectly and looked as soft and sweet as he knew they were. He saw a flash of her white teeth. Then her little pink tongue came out and swiped her lower lip a brief moment, and he almost groaned. Suddenly, he was moving in closer, and he noticed distantly, that she'd abruptly stopped talking and was watching him with those dark-fringed, stunning green eyes of hers (curiously at first), which widened as he drew closer to her face. Her breathing sped up ever so slightly, and she licked her lower lip again nervously, and that was it.

He had to taste her again.

Mac drew in close—his own pulse speeding up at how near he was to her—placed a hand on her shoulder and shifted his head. Stella closed her eyes, and then he gently placed his lips on her mouth. He stayed there a moment, lips pressed firmly against hers, soaking in the sensation of softness and heat. Then he let up a little and brushed his lips across hers, causing her breath to hitch. He did it again, tenderly, several more times, brushing up and down and then side-to-side, before nibbling softly at her lower lip, then her upper one. He relished the supple texture there, the way it made his nerves tingle... Then he pulled away.

They both opened their eyes and looked at each other intensely. Stella was stunned, but not wanting it to end, while every piece of Mac just craved more.

And then, he suddenly wrapped both his arms around her, and pulled her nearer than before and pressed his lips to hers once more. As he nipped again at her lower lip, a little sharper than last time, and she opened her mouth with a gasp, letting him in, this time, there was years of mutual pent-up passion overspilling into the ardent kiss they shared.

He plunged his tongue in and kissed her avidly, with abandon, like he'd just surfaced from deep beneath the ocean and she was the oxygen his burning lungs needed to gulp in to survive. Stella responded to him with fervent kisses of her own, moaning when he buried a hand in her soft curls and deepened the kiss. She tasted heady, sweet, like the wine they'd had at dinner, and his other hand behind her back pressed her as close to himself as he could get her. Instinctively, he needed to be nearer to her; he just couldn't seem to get close enough.

He lowered her back onto the couch, and their legs stretched out, entangled, his steadily growing hardness dug into her thigh. The hand that had lowered her to a supine position now on the delicate curve of her womanly hips...his thumb stroked there as he continued to plunder her mouth, only occasionally stopping for air, before plunging in again—a starving man at a feast.

In the background, from the TV, there was the crack of a bat hitting a ball, and the sound of cheers, as Stella's smooth, slender arms wrapped around him, one hand on his back, pulling him into her, the other curled behind his head, the short hairs there tickling her fingers.

He moved up under her loose, silky shirt, his big, warm hand on her side, brushing up and down tantalizingly while they continued kissing each other deeply, slowly, more thoroughly, learning each other in this way, too. Mac vaguely registered Stella breathlessly whispering his name between kisses, the need in her voice mirroring his own.

He never wanted to stop. She felt amazing everywhere.

Somewhere, beyond the boiling of his blood, a distant voice in his head told him he _really_ needed to end this, but his hands rose inexorably higher, slid from the curve of her side to the front of her chest and felt the scratchy texture of her black lace bra. He placed his hand on a soft mound and squeezed gently; it felt incredible in his palm, full, pliant. He squeezed again, more firmly this time. She whimpered and placed a hand on his backside, trying to pull him closer to her center. He resisted, knowing his tenuous hold on this situation was quickly slipping away.

At this point, his bulge was straining almost painfully for release. She was all softness and sweet smells—and she was Stella, the woman he'd been crazy about since...he couldn't remember exactly when...and she was there and real and warm under him, and she wanted him, too. And so, he moved his mouth to her neck and and started sucking while squeezing a nipple between his thumb and forefinger at same time, and she gasped sharply and bucked into his thigh. Mac expelled a rough groan, knowing he wanted to be inside her right then, buried deep, and never leave again.

This time the warning voice got through, finally penetrated the loud, vibrating hum of arousal burning a trail along his veins and thrumming in his head. So, he pulled away from her, panting rapidly, and looked down at her laying beneath him... Her arm was crooked above her head, her arresting green eyes looked drowsy and seductive. Her lips were swollen and pink from his kisses, her breaths coming in quick, little pants. Then he made the mistake of letting his gaze lower to her neck and chest, the v-in her shirt that had shifted from their making out giving him an enticing view of her neck and cleavage, flushed in pleasure. She was fucking gorgeous.

The beauty mark above her suprasternal notch captured his smoky green eyes. He wondered what sort of noise he could force her to make if he kissed it... So, he did, softly, and then nibbled at it and soothed it with his tongue, squeezing her breast again, his thumb brushing teasingly over a peaked nipple, and heard her emit a pleasingly inarticulate, needy sound, before he hungrily kissed her again.

Then, summoning his iron control, feeling like he was about to explode just from foreplay with her, he pulled up again, clamping his eyes shut this time, his blood was boiling, rushing in his ears, his breath coming out in heavy blasts of air. He was shaking hard from want...it had been awhile since he'd had sex, and, fuck, this was Stella.

He _had_ to stop.

Mac dropped his head to the crevice of her neck, panting so hard, it sounded like he'd just ran a marathon. He could smell her intoxicating scent there, while trying to get his body and his emotions under control.

After several minutes that seemed like an eternity to both, he eventually did. Mac sat up carefully and pulled Stella gently up with him. He grabbed the remote, turned the TV off, and tossed it aside. Then he rubbed the back of his neck, angry at himself.

"Damn it! I'm sorry, Stella. That never should've happened. I don't know what came over me. I...I just...lost control. I'm sorry. You are my best friend. I love you and respect you greatly. You deserve better than an impromptu fuck on the couch, some asshole indulging in his need, without making sure what you wanted." He was incensed with himself and dealing with another internal battle, after just struggling with the last one earlier at lunch. This time he was angry at letting a physical need get the better of him. But another part of him, deep inside, knew that this wasn't just about sex.

Yeah, it had been a long time, and a man had needs. But he never had, and never would, use any woman for sex—no matter how long it'd been. No, what had just happened went far beyond that. This was not about his physical need for a woman, but about his growing need for _her_ in particular. The more he was around her—the more he was in such close, constant contact with her—the more he found to love about her, the more he fell _in_ love with her...the more he needed her. It was a snowball effect.

He'd been able to bury those emotions for so long, carefully concealing himself behind the walls of friendship and professionalism. And when things got too close, when he started feeling that he couldn't live without her, he distanced himself, took a small break from her to get himself under control. Only, here, in this house, on this undercover op., there was nowhere to hide. He was constantly barraged with all of her, everything that _was_ her, and he was forced to face it. It was too much, even for a man like him, who exercised firm control over himself.

He shook his head in anger, still trying to tell himself it was about being lonely and without a woman for so long. How his emotions had just taken out his lust on his best friend. All untrue, of course. But he repeated it over and over again to himself, steadfastly refusing to look at the truth.

Stella placed a hand on his arm. "It's okay, Mac. There's no need to berate yourself. I wanted you, too, if you didn't happen to notice."

"No, don't blame yourself. It was _my_ fault. I kissed you, I—"

"And I let you; I kissed you back. I know you. I could've asked to stop it at any time, and you'd have done so." She paused for a moment, let those facts sink in. "You know, Mac, I think we both knew, somehow, this day would come. The way we feel for each other—it was inevitable, wasn't it?"

Mac's head jerked up, his gaze studying her, surprised and scared that she'd actually referred to their feelings, had said it out loud, breaking a long time unspoken rule of leaving emotions like these between them untouched, unexplored, unexplained. Now, his mind was racing in a new direction, worried that she might go further, and then there'd be no turning back; it'd have to be dealt with, faced head on.

"No, Stell. It was my fault, and I shouldn't have done it. All this constant stress we've been under, having our lives ripped out from under us, living like this, it's taken its toll on me, and I let it make me behave ba—"

"Yes, we're both under a lot of stress. But it doesn't necessarily follow that because of that, and that alone, we wanted to have sex with each other." Stella tugged nervously at a finger on her left hand, a subconscious habit she had. She'd been happy at first, after they'd broken apart, while he was laying his head at her neck. She'd felt like the kiss and what followed was a breakthrough. They had been playing at this for so long, but never actually said anything out loud, never formally acknowledged it. She'd hoped that maybe, if he'd finally opened up enough internally about his feelings for her that he'd kissed her, _twice_, maybe it was finally time; maybe he was ready.

For so long, she'd wondered if he loved her in that way, too, dismissed it even. Then she'd come back to New York, and she'd seen glimpses, very small, but there, of that kind of love. But mostly they played the game, the game of Platonic friends, who loved each other deeply, but would never be anything more.

She knew why, knew that he was scared. She'd seen him first hand after Claire had died, had been there through some of his darkest, bleakest moments. That kind of debilitating pain was inevitably followed by the kinds of deep scars that were indelible. He was a cautious man when it came to his heart. And she'd known that if he ever was gonna fall in love again, he'd have to ease into it slowly. He'd tried with Peyton, but didn't get that far. He'd gotten much further with Christine, let his walls down more than with anyone after Claire.

But with Claire there had been no walls. She was his first love. And with Stella, well, she had been in his life before the walls, then had seen the walls go up, had even seen him work at bringing some of them down, with moderate success. Still, she'd gotten to bond with him in ways that none of the others had. It gave her a unique position in his life as far as women went. But he'd never seemed to consider the possibility of her as more than a best friend.

She'd wondered if it was partly due to guilt. Mac had always been a monogamous sort of man. And she conjectured that maybe it felt like cheating on Claire, being with any other woman after her death. And for him to contemplate being with _her_, it'd probably be worse. She'd known and had started to become friends (instead of just a co-worker of Mac's) with both of them before that fateful day, and so being with her would be to him like, not only cheating, but cheating on Claire with their friend.

She also knew, from being there for him during the aftermath of Claire's death, that Mac had wrestled long and hard with the guilt that Claire had died a violent, traumatic and untimely death, while he'd remained unscathed—physically at least. Therefore, a part of him felt he didn't deserve to be happy, when she had been consigned to such a wretched fate.

Stella had eventually realized that he probably would never see her as a romantic love interest. Not after it had been so many years without a clear sign to the contrary. And so, she contented herself with what she had with him, his close friendship.

She'd lost that for awhile. And she'd learned that she could live without a romantic relationship with him, but without his friendship...being without that was much harder. They'd kept in touch, but it wasn't the same as being a constant in each other's lives, being there for all the day-to-day little things. She'd been without him in New Orleans, and he without her, and it seemed wrong somehow. Something always seemed to be missing.

When she'd heard that he was engaged, it was bittersweet. She loved Mac deeply and truly wanted his happiness more than she wanted her own. So, she was happy that he might finally have found someone he could love in that way, after Claire. But it was also painful. A piece of her had always hoped that maybe someday he might look at her in a different light.

It never occurred to her that he already had, that he'd been in love with her for a long time, but refused to let himself face up to it. She just thought that she was one of those people who had to live with her love unrequited in that way. She needed to move on. Being a needy, clingy woman wasn't her style. Mac had found someone, and she knew she probably would too someday. Maybe not someone she loved as deeply as she did Mac, but that was okay. She'd work with what life dealt her and make it into something good. As for Mac, if she had his friendship, she had one of the best parts of him.

So, when she'd gotten the opportunity, she'd moved back to New York, took up the offer to head her own lab, happy to be home in the city she'd known, loved and lived in most of her life. She picked back up with all her old friendships, her beloved lab family, even though they didn't work together anymore, and had kept firmly to her decision that she would take Mac's friendship and be happy with that. She didn't seek anything more or even let herself think about the possibility. It was a blessing and a gift to have a best friend like him, and just being near him felt like all was right with the world again.

They hadn't seen each other as often as before she'd left, no longer working together, but they did spend a lot of time together, fell into that old, familiar, wonderful friendship again like a foot fell into a comfortable, favorite shoe. Lunches, games, dinners, movies, plays, assorted activities, they did it all. It felt natural, simple, right to both of them. Their love grew even deeper, richer, after she came back—like they appreciated it, and each other, more. That's when she'd seen the glimpses, fleeting, but there of something more. And she'd started to wonder if her earlier assessment and conclusion was now starting to become outdated.

Unbeknownst to her, he'd keenly felt the loss of her, too. But he knew he'd made his choice, where she was concerned, long ago and hoped she'd be fulfilled in a job she well-deserved. He wanted her to be happy, too. He'd been lonely without her, not fully realizing all the voids she'd filled in his life for so long, because she'd always just been there. And then he'd eventually moved on, filled that void with a kind woman, in Christine.

When Stella came back into his life unexpectedly, it had tilted his world on its axis. He'd missed her, had secretly wanted her back, was glad she could be back and still have the job she deserved. He was happy they could be together again, two good friends readily falling back into their close, fire-forged bond.

This had been his undoing.

He'd started feeling conflicted and guilty about the feelings (thoroughly submerged after she'd left) that started welling up inside him for Stella so swiftly and effortlessly. Some part of him knew she was who he really wanted to be with, already knew how great they'd be together, but his very profound fear of losing someone he loved as deeply as Claire would never allow himself to have that with her.

He had also proposed to Christine, made a commitment. He loved her and didn't want to hurt her. So, he dealt with all these complicated emotions by putting up walls with both of them, and left up the ones he still had in place, ones he hadn't finished removing yet. He saw Christine grow frustrated with the regression and distance he'd created, his lack of communication, began feeling inadequate, and ran back to work, entrenching himself there—hoping she'd give him time to work through things. She would've. She was a good woman.

But while he was busy, sorting through things, hiding behind his walls, trying to figure out how to adjust his feelings, she'd found someone else—not on purpose, it just happened. All those nights and days Mac stayed at work, keeping to himself, she'd grown lonely, exasperated, unable to reach him after so many attempts, not knowing what to do. And then another man came into her life, paid attention to her. He had no walls, no baggage, no conflicting emotions about another woman. And against her will, she fell for him, and he fell for her. They never did anything, never cheated physically. But it was still too late. Finally, one day, she confessed it to Mac. She'd cried and apologized and blamed herself.

But Mac knew. He knew who was to blame; it wasn't Christine, it was himself. And he decided then that maybe he'd had his chance with Claire. Maybe there was only one person out there for everyone. Once they were gone, that was it. You'd never have that again. Or, at least, he'd been unable to recreate it. He'd failed Christine, failed himself.

_Never again_, he'd vowed.

Now Stella was bringing up that emotion again. And it scared the hell out of him. He needed to get away. He couldn't do this right now (maybe ever). But he didn't know what to do, what to say. He didn't want to hurt her, but he couldn't be in love.

He _couldn't_.

He tried the best he could to salvage a messed up situation, a mess he'd created, after all, with his raging hormones. "Stella, I promise I will never put you in that position again."

Stella paused a moment, realizing that he may have taken a step forward finally, but now he was in retreat mode, and he was marching, double-time, several steps back. She was tired of playing games though, frustrated, needing more this time.

She didn't want to go back.

So, she tried again for honesty. "Mac, I'll say it slow so it can sink in. You didn't force yourself on me; you didn't take advantage of me. We _both_ wanted it. We both know it wasn't just you trying to get a quick lay to blow off some steam. You'd never treat a woman that way, and I'd never let myself be treated that way." She looked him directly in the eyes and gently said, "The context makes all the difference. The fact that you are who you are, a good man with a good heart, a man who has such a tight rein on himself...that you care for me like that, that you could want me that badly, that you temporarily lost control...well, it's flattering to be needed like that by the man you lo—"

Just then, Tom burst in the front door, breaking up the moment. He tiredly plopped his keys down on the side table by the door and looked over at the two facing each other on the couch. Taking in their demeanor and body language, he instantly knew something serious was being discussed and didn't want to get in the middle of whatever they were working out.

"Is there a plate for me in the oven, Stell?"

"Um...yeah—no... Actually, we ordered takeout. Chinese. We left some in the cartons for you in the microwave."

"Thanks, guys. I'll let you two get back ta talking." He left the room and entered the kitchen, leaving them to finish their discussion.

Mac couldn't take anymore, though. When he'd talked about the stress and pressure he'd been under since this, it had been accurate. And having her discussing their feelings for each other, putting it out there to be dealt with—he couldn't deal with the additional pressure right now. He was glad for the respite Tom afforded.

He decided to beat a hasty retreat. So, Mac abruptly stood, before Stella could get back to where she was in the conversation. "You know, I need to find out how the Feds want this handled. I'd better ask him before I forget. Be back in a bit, Stell."

He shoved his hands in his pockets and hurriedly left the room—and a very frustrated Stella Bonasera.

"_...Sometimes the last person on earth _

_you want to be with is the one person_

_you can't be without..." _

\- Jane Austen, _Pride and Prejudice_


	12. Chapter 11

Hey, awesome peeps!

Have a good week? I very much hope so.:)

_**K**_: You and _**Lily's**_ reviews this week were so amazing—insightful, thoughtful, and, joy-inducing. Thanks, you two.:) Also, thanks for saying it's beautifully explored.

"Right Next Door"—another favorite. I agree they had too many things to work out before going there at that time.

LOL about the 'poor Stella' comments from you and _**Lily**_. Hey, I feel sorry for her _myself_—for _both_ of them actually, and I wrote it. Haha But, as you and _**Lily**_ said, it's very Mac. He lost control for a bit because of everything that's been going on, but I think because of the way he feels about her, and who he is, that he knows that if he goes there with her, it's over. There's no going back. He'll be all in. And, as we discussed before, he's far too afraid.

Thanks so much. You know you helped me, too, with this, my beautiful _**K**_. I had it all written, but I felt confident doing it this way because of what you told me of the seasons I hadn't seen. Also, I added a line about his lack of communication that wasn't in there before based on the aphasia incident.

And, as you know, I'm adding the Claire reminder thing and the gratefulness, and domestic thing all into my next fic. It'll fit perfectly with what I already have, and I love it.:D

About the 'bad guy' thing: Yeah, I really feel no need to demonize her, and, as I said before, it's not how I roll. Needlessly denigrating her character would just mean that I was insecure that Stella couldn't match up to her. I have no doubt Christine was a nice, kind, lovely character. She was surely written to be that way. But look at Stella: she's beautiful, smart, strong, sexy, kind, compassionate, great at her job, overflowing with affection and warmth...

Then there's her history with Mac. I mean, what woman knows him like her? Who has gotten into all his little psychological crevices and bonded with him like her? And just look at that great chemistry that transcends the scene in so many moments in the series. As I said in the last chapter, they have everything they need, a great base, for a strong, beautiful love, given to us by the great writers of _CSI: NY_, and the good acting skills, and natural chemistry of, Melina and Gary. Basically, Stella is an amalgamation of the producers, and mostly, the writers and Melina—and she's an awesome character. She and Mac go together so well. That's why the ship was so popular. It's why people still want to read about them.

That is my favorite line in the review! Haha In fact, _**Lily's**_ first line, and your last, both made me laugh several times, as I re-read what you wrote. I actually thought of it when I wrote the chapter. And, when I read this, I could just see everyone's eyes and facial expressions if he had. (Talk about awks.)

Anyway...I loved that line and your (and _**Lily's**_) review(s) just made my week. Thanks for all that you are and do, sweet _**K**_.:)

_**Lily**_: As I told _**K**_, this first line made me LOL. Love it! I can just hear you saying it. Perfect. Haha I'm sure you're not the only one who wants to give him a shake and a talking to.;)

Thanks! I liked that she was brave enough to put that out there. I already had that written, but _**K**_ really said something to me about her character that reinforced this as something within her personality. She told me she tended to be more daring than Mac, less reserved. And I agree.

Thank you so much, _**Lily**_ and _**K**_, for helping me with how you two see the characters, and also, coming from you two, saying I got them in character and made this believable means a great deal. You two are so good and kind. Believe it.:)

Thank you very much for the detail and observations bit. Again, these two reviews just made me very happy.

Oh, I had a good week, and this week has been just great! Only, busy. Hope your leg is doing better and your week is excellent, my dear, lovely _**Lily**_.

**Re-watch**: Yeah...well...I hoped I'd have the time but, that was a dream...:/

**To all my beautiful, wonderful, world-wide readers**: You are very much appreciated.:)

So, this chapter starts almost right after the last one. And Stella has...words. Haha Also, Gianni and Sal make an appearance, and Tom and Stella talk.

Have a great week, peeps!;)

* * *

**Chapter Eleven**

"_...I thought I was ready to bleed,_

_That we'd move from the shadows on the wall_

_And stand in the center of it all..." _

\- Sara Bareilles, "Between the Lines"

Stella walked into the kitchen and found Mac standing next to Tom, handing him a beer, while Tom lifted his overburdened plate out of the microwave, an already half-eaten egg roll dangling out of his mouth. He looked comical, and Stella would've teased him, if she hadn't been so exasperated.

The two men looked up at her as she entered. They both recognized the look on her face; Scrappy Stella had been awakened and someone was gonna get an earful. They both already knew who. Tom grabbed the beer from Mac's hand, both thanking him and commiserating with him with his eyes. Then he beat a hasty retreat out of the kitchen toward the dining room.

"What the hell was that, Mac?" She folded her arms in front of her.

"What?" Mac tried to look innocent, oblivious, but only managed to pull off guilty and nervous.

"I was spilling my guts to you out there and you just walk off in the middle of it?" Stella gestured toward the other room in vexation.

"Stella, I can't deal with this right now. I'm sorry, I w—"

"What about me, Mac? Why do I get left holding the bag? ...It sucks, you know?"

Mac paused a moment, taking in what she said, her demeanor. Then he averred, gently, sincerely, "I know, Stell... But it's for the best."

This just made Stella's ire, which had softened a moment, flare back up. "What does that even _mean_, Mac? For whose best? You know how annoying, how patronizing, it is to have someone tell you something is for the best? You're not my father, Mac."

"I'm not trying to be patr—"

"And yet, you are. How about that?" Stella placed her hands on her hips and raised a lovely, arched eyebrow.

Mac was getting more irritated, feeling more pressure heaped on him, and trying to control his temper from rising. He didn't want to lash out at Stella. He loved her, and he understood how she could feel frustrated after all these years. Hell, he'd be frustrated, too. He _was_, actually.

He felt trapped. So, he shut down, became impassive.

"Nothing to say, huh?"

Stella was visibly hurt. And he used it to reinforce his convictions. _Failed again, Taylor. Hurt the person you love most._

"Fine, Mac. Shut me out. Put those walls back up—oh, did I say walls? I meant go back to your self-made prison cell. Lock yourself in and me out. We'll both be miserable together. But, hey, as long as it's for the best!" Stella was really upset now. Her voice had risen, but it had also almost cracked on the last word. Mac noticed it and felt worse.

"What's goin' on here?"

Sal had just entered the kitchen, looking smug, butting in where he clearly wasn't wanted. Not that he cared, or noticed.

Mac was standing by the center wooden-topped island, away from them, irately watching him draw closer to her.

Sal threw a disgusted look at Mac, and turned back to Stella, asking, "This asshole botherin' you, Stella? 'Cause if he is, I'll take care o' him for ya."

Mac's fists clenched at his sides, knuckles whitening.

Stella snorted inwardly at this assertion, knowing full well Sal was a blow hard who didn't stand a chance against Mac, a trained ex-Marine, in hand-to-hand combat. She took the diplomatic route though, knowing it was useless to try to tell him this. "I'm okay, Sal. I can take care of myself."

Sal ignored her declaration. "Come on, baby..." he drawled. Stella's eyebrows shot up at that, unamused. Mac shifted menacingly by the table. "...why don't ya let someone take care o' you for a change? Someone who knows what he's got, unlike this flaming moron here." He glanced briefly over his shoulder at Mac, goading him, and deliberately placed a hand on her shoulder.

Stella flinched, repulsed. And still, Sal remained oblivious of her feelings.

"Get your hands off her, Sal," Mac threatened, his voice dangerously low and gravelly. Stella looked at him, worried now, knowing that Sal had picked the wrong day and time to play his mind games with Mac.

Of course, Sal ignored this warning. He'd gotten away with this stuff all this time. No reason to think he wouldn't continue to, especially since he knew Mac was trying to get in Gianni's good graces. He deliberately put another hand on her other shoulder, bracing her in on both sides. "C'mon, tell Sal all about it." Sal pulled Stella in, giving her a hug.

Mac had his arms folded, anger pouring off him like waves of heat radiating off the black asphalt on a hot summer day in the south. His jaw was clenched, a vein jumping in his temple. "I said, get your fuckin' hands off of her, Sal, or I'll remove them for you."

Sal sneered at him over her shoulder—refusing to budge.

Stella knew what was coming. Heck, she had just been thinking of doing the world a favor and raising her knee, depriving him of future progeny. But she was still in control enough to try to diffuse the situation. She almost felt sorry for the foolish, sadistic jerk. Almost.

Pulling firmly away from him, she reasserted, "I said I'm okay, Sal. Mac and I were just having a discussion. And I'm a big girl; I don't need anyone to fight my battles for me."

Sal, enjoying touching her, and not done having his fun yet, brushed her cheek with the back of his hand. "Anyone ever tell ya you're too beautiful to be with a loser like him?"

Mac snapped.

Between the tension of the job—being undercover, under constant surveillance and pressure—his fight with Stell and his conflicted emotions, internally, he was a perfect storm of pent up fury about to blow. And he did.

Mac made it over to Sal and Stella so fast, he surprised both of them. He grabbed Sal's shirt by the collar with both fists and dragged him roughly away from her. The heels of Sal's shoes clacked uselessly on the floor as he repeatedly tried to gain traction. Mac shoved him over toward the door of the kitchen.

Sal was slightly unnerved by this, at first, not expecting it. Then he was furious, especially at losing face in front of Stella, and he impotently swung at Mac. But Mac dodged it easily and grabbed his arm, using Sal's own momentum against him to swing him right into his awaiting fist, hitting him hard in the nose. There was the sound of the slap of flesh on flesh and Sal's head snapped back, then blood came oozing out of his now crooked nose.

Sal clutched at it, tears streaming out of his eyes, and he screeched at Mac, his voice sounded off now, stuffy, because of his broken nose, "I'll fuckin' kill ya for this, you asshole! I'll fuckin' _kill_ you!"

Mac couldn't care less. He stood there, panting, angry as hell.

Sal tried once more to hit Mac with his free hand, but Mac deftly dodged it yet again, grabbing his fist and twisting Sal's arm backwards, palm up. Sal howled in pain, then tried several times to twist around and kick him, but Mac swung a second time and brought a heavy fist up to meet Sal's mouth. There was a resonant _Thwack!_ loosening a tooth, and making his mouth bleed.

Sal was a bloody mess, by this point, and Mac threw several hard punches, busting him in the ribs, and then once more, aiming for Sal's jaw, but catching him higher, near his cheek bone and temple, finishing him off, hitting him hard enough to daze him.

Sal stumbled backwards a bit, toward the wall, and crumpled to the floor, like a wooden marionette whose strings had just been cut.

Stella stood there in stunned silence. She'd never seen Mac that angry before. Ever.

Mac was huffing in fury, adrenaline coursing through his veins, fists still clenched and knuckles bloodied. "Next time, _pal_—" Mac broke off, trying to catch his breath and calm his wrath. He pointed at Sal, who was too disoriented to even bother looking up. "—just try it again. Just touch her like that again. Talk to her like that. Next time you want a lesson on how to treat a woman, you've come to the right fuckin' place!" Mac spat out, then turned on his heel and stormed out of the kitchen.

Stella took a moment to regain her psychological footing before, ever compassionate, and feeling sorry for the pathetic-looking, bloodied mass of flesh on the floor, she grabbed a clean, white dish towel, dampened it and pushed it into Sal's hand. Then she ran out of the kitchen after Mac, brushing past Tom and Gianni entering kitchen.

She was too late. He was gone.

* * *

Tom and Gianni were taken aback by what they saw. They knew a fight had occurred, had heard the last of it from the table where they had been talking in the dining room, but neither had realized how bad it had gotten.

Gianni looked on Sal with disgust, not a trace of pity on his face. He muttered under his breath, shaking his head, "All for a piece of ass."

This statement riled Tom up, and though he was good enough at what he did not to betray his emotions at all, he no longer wanted to be in the same room with Gianni. So, he left, went to check on Stella in the other room, leaving Gianni and Sal to their own devices.

"Ya know, you're just a fuckin' accident waiting to happen, Sal. Between your gambling habit and your dick," he snarled. "One day, you're gonna fuck things up, because you're sloppy, and then what...?"

Sal was in so much pain he couldn't even muster the strength to defend himself. He just sat there holding the towel, covered in blots of red, to his nose.

Gianni kicked him in the ribs for good measure, momentarily jerking Sal's body to life with pain.

He thought to himself that he couldn't wait to get back into the family, become what he was meant to be. He was tired of dealing with pathetic, low life scum like Sal just to survive and prove to his uncle what he was really made of.

"You need to control yourself. Get a grip. Ignore your dick for a change and be professional, or I swear I'll cut it off, Sal!" Gianni growled.

He wasn't really one for idle threats.

He had a bad temper when he lost it, a particularly dark, sadistic temper. But most of the time he was a pretty cool customer, cold and calculating, watching. He didn't use to be. But ever since he'd screwed up big time and had gotten himself kicked out of the family, he'd learned a huge lesson. One he'd vowed never to forget.

He took a moment to rein in his rage, and then continued, "If you can make it till we get this deal done, I'll let you take care of Mac personally. I still don't trust the guy. He hasn't done anything out of line, but...I don't know. There's somethin' off about him. I can feel it. Besides, I only keep him around for Tommy's sake. Tommy'll be pissed, but, don't worry, I'll take care of Tommy. Explain why it had to be done. He's smart. He'll deal with it and move on."

* * *

Tom found Stella pacing in the next room, her slender arms were wrapped around her middle, and she had tears shining in her eyes.

He'd always had a soft spot for Stella, felt like a protective big brother towards her. And he grabbed her up, pulled her into his big arms and hugged her tight, knowing that's what she needed right then. She put her arms around him and cried on his shoulder for awhile, and he let her.

Eventually, her tears ebbed and she pulled back a little, looking up at him. He used the roughened pad of his thumb to wipe an errant tear away.

"It's all my fault, Tom. I made that happen in there. Mac and I...we kissed and I—I just pushed him. And I should know better; I know him so well, but I—I...messed everything up."

Tom was taken aback by her admission. "So, the old bastard finally grew a pair and showed you how he felt, huh?" he replied under his breath, quietly wondrous.

"What?" Stella blustered.

"Well, that explains why he came scuttling into the kitchen sweatin' like the devil's nutsack."

Stella, through her tears, laughed a little in surprise at that. "Yeah, but I think you missed the part where I pressured him and he almost literally ran out on me. I thought maybe... But I was obviously very wrong." She rolled her eyes at herself, angry and full of remorse. "How absolutely wrong can you be?"

"Stell," Tom began gently, wiping another tear away, "you weren't wrong. You know Mac, and so do I. I know him because he's like a brother to me, and I understand him because I'm a man, too. I'm tellin' ya, he loves you so much it scares him."

Stella shook her head, a fresh spate of hot tears slipping down her face. "No, Tom, I don't think...not like that. I thought he did for a bit. But I was wrong. I misread him. And I just selfishly, idiotically put him in a horrible position."

Tom placed a finger under her chin and made her look up at him again. "No, he kissed you because he's madly in love with you, Stell. I've been watching you two together while you've been here. It's obvious how both of you feel about each other."

"But—"

"You may have pushed, and he _definitely_ ran, but that's just bad timing. Besides, we're talkin' about Mac here, the guy's a geriatric turtle when it comes ta love."

Stella's tears had started to subside and she chuckled at the imagery.

"But Mac wouldn't have made a move on you if he hadn't meant to, hadn't wanted something more with you."

"I don't know. Maybe it was just a kiss. Maybe—"

"Nope. He's in love, balls deep. But I do think, even though I know how hard it must've been after he kissed you, that it was the wrong thing to try to pressure him to talk about it."

"Yeah... I told you I was an idiot."

"Eh, we all are sometimes, especially, when it comes ta love."

She hugged Tom gratefully. "Thanks, Tom. You are a true mensch."

Tom hugged her back, grinned and then pulled back from her. "Yeah, yeah. Don't get mushy on me, kid. I gotta rep. to protect."

Stella smiled back and rolled her eyes at him. She poked him lightly in the stomach and he faux flinched. "Too late, I've already seen your soft underbelly a long time ago."

He smirked at that and then grew serious again. "Listen, I'm gonna go talk to Mac. I'm pretty sure I know where he's gone and what he's feelin' right now. You gonna be okay if I leave?" he inquired, nodding towards the kitchen, already knowing what her response would be.

"You know I will be."

"That's my girl. Be back later."

Then he walked off to the door and grabbed his keys, heading out after his best pal of thirty some-odd years.

Stella stood there and watched him go, grateful to have two such men in her life.

"_I no doubt deserved my enemies, but_

_I don't believe I deserved my friends." _

\- Walt Whitman


	13. Chapter 12

Hey, peeps! Have a great week? At least a good one? Hope so.:)

_**Lily**_: Aww...and how happy I am that you enjoy it.:) (As I do yours, btw.)

IKR...I kinda liked it. I felt like Mac was not only stressed, and blew his fuse, he also was sort of defending Stella's honor. I, too, felt it was a long time coming, and that Sal totally deserved it. Also, so true—total creep. Ugh...

LOL on you willing Stella to knee him.

Yeah, Stella has reason to feel as she does, as does Mac. But Mac is under more pressure, since he keenly feels the responsibility of keeping up appearances so they remain living. Plus, all these emotions coming up he has stuffed down for far too long springing up, Stella wanting to deal with it, not knowing really how to handle it all, and the upcoming job at Salerno's, which he just stuffed down the anxiety of. The poor guy has a lot weighing on his shoulders...

Ahaha at the geriatric turtle bit. I mean, everyone knows he's definitely a slow mover. Am I right?;) BTW, happy to have made you laugh. (Yay!)

Oh, thanks so much about the dialogue comment. How amazing are you? (Pretty amazing, in my book.);)

Yay! I love the excitement. The best motivator.:D

Thanks for this lovely review, my sweet _**Lily**_.:)

_**K**_: I'm very glad you liked it, _**K**_.:) It felt more realistic to me. But I wasn't totally sure of it till you told me something again about how you think they would react in these circumstances.

I really love your analysis of Sal and Gianni. It was perfect and even made me think of them in ways I hadn't really associated them with (e.g., animalistic, etc.)

It took me a second read-through to realize what you were referring to, but after I did, I totally LOL'd. That's something else I never really thought of. It _is_ another issue to deal with. As I wrote it, I just thought of how on one side, he's playing a game he's very good at, while seeing what's going on between them, and he loves both of his friends, he genuinely wants them to be happy. Tom knows they're struggling with this, and he finally feels like something needs to be said.

I'm so glad.:)

Thanks for the insightful review, beautiful _**K**_. You and _**Lily**_ are the best.:)

**To my super cool and awesome world-wide fans**: Thank you so very much.:)

Sorry the chapter was later this week. There was a family medical emergency that took up the first half of my week. The second half was catch-up time. Though, I did get this up on Saturday—just under the wire.

**Chapter Notes**: So, this chapter again follows the last. It starts with a talk between Mac and Tom (mostly Tom), and ends with Mac and Stella.

Have a great week, guys!:)

* * *

**Chapter Twelve**

"_...When one door of happiness closes,_

_another opens; but often we look so long _

_at the closed door that we do not see_

_the one which has been opened for us..." _

\- Helen Keller, _We Bereaved_

Tom drove his old FBI-issued Chevy to a bar he and Mac, and sometimes Stell, had taken to occasionally going to while they were on this job. Like he'd suspected, Mac's black Avalanche stood out prominently, parked in front next to two older, smaller vehicles. The gravel in the lot crunched and popped beneath his tires as he eased the truck into the spot next to Mac's.

After turning the vehicle off, he grabbed his key out of the ignition and headed into the bar. Opening the door and stepping out of the bright, flesh-blistering summer day, the cool, quiet darkness inside struck him. His eyes slowly adjusted to the dimness, and a movement flickered on his left, followed by an unmistakable clacking sound.

Always observant of his surroundings, the ex-marine tossed a quick glance at the man (_Late twenties, dark hair, medium-build, wearing dark jeans, tennis shoes and a black Led Zeppelin t-shirt. Very relaxed. Probably a regular_, he assessed). The patron was sipping beer out of an emerald-colored bottle and intently focused on the game of pool he was shooting with himself in the distant corner.

Tom turned his head. His old friend sat on a barstool, shoulders hunched, eyes downcast, nursing a beer, the knuckles of his hand around the glass bottle swollen, bruised and scabbed over.

He walked over and plopped down next to his brooding buddy, then ordered a beer. After the bartender placed the cold, foamy-topped beverage in front of him and walked to the other end of the bar to dry some glasses, Tom turned to Mac.

"I know you're in no mood ta talk right now. So, I'm gonna talk, and you're gonna listen, 'cause I got somethin' to say that should've been said a long time ago. Felt like sayin' anything was butting in, so I kept silent. But I can't anymore. For your sake, and for hers."

Mac remained motionless while Tom took a long sip of his beer to fortify himself and then began.

"Listen, I know, and you know, you're the world's slowest mover. And I know why... You're one of the good ones, Mac. You're careful when it comes ta love because when you love, you give everything. I also know that each time you ever let a woman get real close after Claire, you needed a push...a big one." Tom shook his head at the thought. "With Peyton, when she wanted to take it to the next level, it took a crazy group of thugs takin' over your lab to propel you forward... The only other serious woman you had was Christine. And what did it take for you to go anywhere with her? You had to have a near death experience for you to let go. And then still, you held yourself back. _Still_."

Mac snorted at the memories Tom's words evoked. He had a point.

"Christine had to get kidnapped, you had to fear for her _life_, before you finally asked the girl to marry ya. And, thing is, while it seemed you were finally able to come to terms with marrying again, it ended up badly. And because of that, because, even with the two women you've dated seriously since Claire's death, in your eyes, you'd felt you couldn't make it work, you made a permanent, strategical retreat back behind those carefully constructed walls of yours. Decided you weren't fit to love again. That you got lucky once, and that was that."

"Fits the facts. Gotta be honest with myself about my faults."

Tom grunted in disagreement. "Claire _was_ special; you guys had tha real deal. But it actually is possible to have two great loves in one lifetime. It's possible to do it right twice. And the perfect woman to do it with is the one who's been right under your nose all these years. I mean, if she isn't tired of gazin' at your sorry mug by now, she ain't never gonna be."

The corners of Mac's lips tilted up slightly at this.

"Stella is the one woman you've let get closest to you in almost every way since Claire died. She knows you better than any woman but Claire ever has, because she's worked side-by-side with you so many years, been your closest friend, next ta me. She's seen you at your worst, handled your anger, helped with some of your deepest pain... You guys have swapped stories and shared countless meals and laughs together. As partners who had each other's sixes, you learned to trust each other unconditionally. And I know, for a _fact_, you think she's hotter 'n hell. I've seen you drool on yourself like a teething puppy on a squeaky toy when she's wearin' the right attire."

Mac shook his head and grinned wryly, cheeks reddening a little. He took a sip of beer, to mask his embarrassment, then retorted, "Like you don't think she's beautiful, too."

"Oh, she is. No doubt about it. But I've seen the way _you_ look at her, Taylor. That's not just animal attraction, it's deeper than that."

In response, Mac ducked his head lower, looking closely at the grain of the dark-stained wood of the bar, suddenly finding it very interesting.

"You stumbled on it again, Mac; you got the real deal _twice_, you lucky bastard. But you won't do nothin' about it. Stell, wants to, but won't, out of deference to you... You know she was blamin' herself back there for what happened? Said she pushed you when she had no right to. And there's a truth to that, but, it's not the whole truth, is it?" Tom paused a moment, gulped more of his beer and then somberly continued. "Stella deserves more."

Mac, who had been sitting there quietly, absorbing his friend's assertions, turned to Tom suddenly, a flash of anger, in his eyes. "You think I don't know that? But she needs—she _deserves_ a man who won't let her down. Who will make her happy the rest of h—"

"Yeah, and that man is you. Can't you see that, Mac? She's like you in that way. When she loves, she gives her whole heart; she's all in. And now, for her, there will probably be no one else. She could die alone, pining for you from afar. Ever thought of tha—"

"It's not like that, Tommy! It's not as simple as that." Mac's temper flared up again, mostly at himself. Big Tony's words from the day he'd first kissed her resonated in his head.

"Well, it is and it isn't. But you know that, don't you? You try to hide behind complexities that are partially real, out of self-preservation. But you also know, deep down, that what matters most is you love her as much as you loved Claire. And you know you have far more to lose than you did before, the stakes are greater, by this time in your life."

Tom took another swig of beer, relishing the crisp taste of the amber liquid, giving his buddy time to mull over what he'd just told him. Mac grasped his bottle, wincing at the pain in his knuckles, and took a sip of the tepid, bitter drink, then slowly swirled the remaining liquid around the cylindrical bottom of the dark, maple-colored bottle.

"After losing your first love, you can't bear the thought of losing Stell, your second chance. So, you settle for less. Sure, you'll share the hardships with her, the work, the friendship, the stories, the meals, but the rest of it, the deeper, richer love, the love_making_, the beautiful babies and the growing old together, all those wonderful experiences that make life great...that's what you choose to sacrifice, because it's safer."

Mac started peeling away at the damp, sticky label on his beer bottle, looking tense, pensive.

"But how do you think Stell feels? Up on the shelf, very in love with you herself, and you draw the line and say, 'no further.' And, hey, I get it, it's your heart, too. You both have a say in who you love and how you love...but when two people love each other like you and Stella do, and one person shuts off that possibility, well, the other half of that love...she's forced to live a half-life, too. Pretty shitty thing to do, if you ask me."

"I know. But it's the best I can do, for both of u—"

"And you rationalize it away by tellin' yourself it's for the best. But how do you really know that's true, Mac? You're just guessing. And how much of it is to avoid the chance of crushing Stella's heart...and how much of it is out of selfishness? Can you answer me that?"

Mac flinched at the candor in his old pal's words.

Tom downed the rest of his beer and stood, slapping Mac on the shoulder. "Think about it." And then he turned and exited the bar, leaving Mac to sift through his words in the cool solitude of the place.

* * *

Later that evening, when Mac returned to the house, he quietly and earnestly apologized to Stella, then told her that he would try to decide, once and for all, what he wanted to do about their relationship and let her know. He had to take a leap of faith with her or let the prospect of something more with her go—fish or cut bait. Tom was right, tacitly condemning her to limbo wasn't fair.

So, he promised her, on the back porch, as the sun was setting, softly illuminating her lovely face in pink and gold tones, the breeze ruffling her silky ringlets, making her look even more stunning to him than normal.

After he'd finished, turning from her to leave the porch, Stella stopped him, saying, "No, _I'm_ sorry, Mac. I misread the situation. I thought you might be ready for..." She sighed. "...but that was my mistake. I'm sorry I added more pressure to what you were already carrying during all this. I made my peace with what we are to each other a long time ago. I had to. And I decided then not to ask more from you than what you can give. I'm happy being your best friend." She paused, mouth curving in a cute, quirky Bonasera smile, then added teasingly, "Um...an amazing, incredibly irreplaceable best friend."

Mac grinned at that, eyes crinkling at the corners.

The two looked at each other a moment, quiet acknowledgment of a thousand things they were to each other passing between them.

Stella tilted her head, keeping her understanding green eyes on his, and slipped a slender, graceful hand in his larger one, squeezing it lightly to emphasize her next words. "And maybe we'll part ways again sometime, maybe you'll find someone else, or I will. Who knows? The future is uncertain. But one thing I _am_ certain of is that you're a good man, Mac, and I want your friendship in my life for as long as I can have it. If that's all you can give, it's okay."

Mac looked at her and some relief, still mixed with uncertainty, shone in his eyes. "Ste—"

She brought a finger up to his lips and shushed him. Then, dropping her hand back down to her side, continued. "I want you, Mac, but I don't have to have you in that way. If you hadn't noticed, I have a certain independent streak. I learned a long time ago, as an orphan at St. Basil's, that a person can only depend on two things in life—oneself and God, and I'm not always certain about depending on oneself." She smiled dryly and looked relaxed, at peace with her statement. "I understand that love is hard for you, opening up like that, after losing Claire. I will never forget those months it took for you to get over the worst of it. I also remember that you wanted to end your life several times. I remember being there for so much of it. Sometimes crying with you until we couldn't cry anymore. I never want to see you go through that again, ever. And I know subconsciously that's what you're trying to avoid, enduring that agony again... Who wouldn't? So, how could I be angry with you, Mac? How could I blame you?"

A multitude of emotions swept over Mac at her words, a bit of guilt still, but also some of the pressure released its hold on him, and the most salient feelings that lingered at the fringes of his awareness were of fathomless love and gratefulness.

"Do what you want, Mac. In fact, don't worry about it at all right now. Maybe later, after all of this—" She pointed to the house and its surroundings. "—is done. Maybe then, if you want. If not, we'll just pretend it never happened."

"_...Leave unsaid unspoken_

_Eyes wide shut unopened_

_You and me_

_Always between the lines,_

_Between the lines..." _

\- Sara Bareilles, "Between the Lines"


	14. Chapter 13

Hey, guys! Have a great week? Passable? I hope it was at least good.:)

_**K**_: Thanks for the 'woo hoo' there, _**K**_.:)

Ahaha Somehow, 'geriatric turtle' sounds funnier when you say it (than when I wrote it). But it's true. And, as you said, it's easier for him to see since he's on the outside of everything.

Well, you know how much your character interpretations helped me. I always beta with an eye for what we discussed.:)

Those last three sentences are just...love. The trusting him with her life, but the issues with her heart thing. How they both are stuck between of those issues and their love for each other.

Thanks so much, _**K**_! I take that as very high praise, considering the source.:)

_**Lily**_: First of all, thanks so much! You always know the perfect thing to say to make all the hard work worthwhile. Always.

Well-deserved time off...

Very glad it didn't disappoint. :D

Well, someone needed to do it. And I agree, he was the best person to do it in this fic.

Ahaha I'm so glad you liked that. I tried to make for some cute, funny imagery there. I'm not great at being funny. (Which makes me think of Zach Reiter. If I had _his_ talented wit this would be so much better. ...buuutt I don't, so, it is what it is.;)).

About being lucky...I think a part of him does. But, I think _**K**_ touched something on the nose about the two taking each other for granted. It's very human, don't you think?

Stella had a mixture of motivations: compassion, love (as you pointed out), which she made explicit, but also her trust issues. _**K**_ mentioned how she trusts Mac in many ways, but her heart was something she was always afraid to really trust to anyone else. Mac got closer to her than any man, just as Mac let her in more than any other woman, after he lost Claire.

Stella dated once seriously on the series. A couple of times casually (that we saw, or was inferred). I believe she already had those issues with loving in that way. I theorize it was from her past as an orphan and growing up in foster care. Which is why I mentioned her independent streak (which I think is really a mix of independence and trust issues) and St. Basil's. She tried to have something with Frankie, though it took her a bit to take the plunge. Then, after what he did to her, I'm sure he made things worse.

With Mac and Stella, their guards were down because their relationship grew slowly, from acquaintances, to friends, to very close friends, and developed quietly, unobtrusively into love without the two really realizing it until they had both already fallen for each other. So now they have this love and what do they do? Mac's scared. He loves her too much to risk losing her, and Stella, the more daring one, is at a time in her life, and their relationship, where she's more willing to take the chance. That's why she pushed a little.

But since he backed off, she did the same. She definitely loves him and does not want to see him in pain, does not want to add to his burden, and understands why he feels the way he does, everything she told him was absolutely true. But, like Mac, she's also trying to protect her own heart.

So, that's how I interpret her emotions here...YMMV.;)

Aww...thank you so much. This means a great deal to me.:)

**To my super-amazing World-wide readers**: You are appreciated and also pretty fab (just so ya know)!

**Chapter Notes**: So...this next chapter has a lighter feel to the first two-thirds of it. It takes place a bit later and has a little jello Mac. There's also Mac being cute, funny, and Stella being her awesome self. The last bit, however, is...not so light-hearted.

The next chapter may take a bit longer than usual to get out. I always strive for posting one chapter a week, but I'm not ecstatic about the next chapter rn—beta-wise. It doesn't flow like I want, etc. Also, sometimes life be cray, busy-wise... So, between those two things, we'll see. I'll do my best. If I can get the chapter to some semblance of something palatable in my eyes within the week, I'll definitely post it.;)

Have a wonderful week, awesome peeps!;)

* * *

**Chapter Thirteen**

"_...Ridin' high, when I was king_

_Played it hard and fast, 'cause I had everything_

_Walked away, won me then_

_But easy come and easy go_

_And it would end..." _

\- Madcon, "Beggin'"

For the past several days, Mac had kept his distance, stayed busy, came home late and went straight to bed. Stella knew that it wasn't just the job keeping him out late. He needed his space to think. So, she gave it to him. She had plenty of things to occupy her time.

A couple of days before the 'visit' to Salerno's restaurant, Mac came home early. Stella had been babysitting the neighbor's toddler, a three-year-old named Olivia. She'd met the next door neighbor, a handsome, thirty-something, widower, while out checking the mail one day. They'd hit it off and, finding himself in a crunch one time, he'd asked Stella if she could watch 'Livie, as he called her. Stella had happily agreed and, from then on, every once in awhile, she'd watch the adorable little girl for him.

And so, when Mac entered the house, put his keys on the side table by the door and swiveled around, Stella entered the room holding the little girl on her jutted hip, tucking a silky, swirly lock of hair behind her ear, and Mac froze.

She looked striking. And, for a brief moment, a compelling picture of her carrying their beautiful, green-eyed, curly-haired child in her arms presented itself to him. It hadn't been the first time. But, as he'd always done, he quickly quashed that thought and brought his focus back to the scene before him.

Strolling to the couch, she gently placed the toddler down on the soft, cream-colored cushions, but continued smiling, speaking in dulcet tones to her, and making the little girl grin and giggle as she packed up a few of her things, scattered on the coffee table, in a diaper bag.

He shook his head, as if trying to physically dispel the recurring images and their attendant emotions from his head. All the recent talk from Big Tony, and even Tom, of his and Stella's relationship and having babies with her had caused this latent desire to persistently swell up and overflow into his consciousness, making it harder to stave off lately. Mac rationalized that he must've been halted by the sight because it'd been awhile, compared to what he was now used to, since he'd really visited with Stella. He was probably just missing spending time with his pal.

Stella slung the diaper bag over her slender shoulder and scooped the little girl up, raining kisses all over her cherubic face. The child giggled with glee again. Mac thought to himself, not for the first time, what an excellent mother she'd make. Then she placed 'Livie back on her hip and started toward the door. When she spotted Mac, she flashed him a brilliant, attractive smile.

"Hey, Mac. Home early, huh?"

"Uh, yeah. Yeah... Not much to do today." He smiled back at her, couldn't help himself.

"Well, that's good. It'll give you a little time to kick back and relax." She walked past him, the rosy-cheeked toddler chewing on her own tiny fist, studying him curiously, and stepped outside.

Just then, Mac got a call from Tom on his burner cell. He checked the caller ID and then answered it. "Yeah."

Tom started talking to him, but Mac's attention was elsewhere. He wandered irrepressibly back through the front door and out onto the porch, distractedly searching out Stella's presence.

"Uh-huh," Mac acknowledged, half-listening to Tom while locating his best friend, standing on the sidewalk between the two houses chatting with the neighbor, sunlight dappling her caramel skin as the trees above them swayed in the breeze. Focused intently on her, the guy grinned broadly and now had the baby in _his_ arms and the bag over his shoulder.

He'd met the neighbor (_Bobby, Brian...?_) once, hadn't paid much attention to him that night. He'd had a lot on his mind then. But today he was far more interested. Mostly, because of the way the guy was talking animatedly to her, obviously flirting—and, more importantly—making Stella laugh repeatedly.

He was tall, taller than her or even Mac himself. He was also tan, photogenic and well-built. Mac wondered how he had time to get to the gym as much as he obviously did, seeing as the guy was a cop _and_ a single father. He snorted derisively.

"_Mac, are ya there?"_

Tom's voice brought Mac back to the conversation. "Oh, yeah, yeah. Sorry, Tom."

The guy reached over and lingeringly brushed an errant, springy curl behind Stella's ear and she smiled prettily and ducked her head.

After that display, Mac quickly started down the steps, as he interjected, "Uh, Tom...? Tom! I gotta go, man... Yeah, something suddenly came up I gotta deal with. We'll talk about this later. Okay?"

Stella made to leave, when their neighbor suddenly reached out and touched the side of her shoulder. She turned back to him, and he kept his hand there, saying something while giving her a million watt smile.

Mac witnessed all of this and, unfortunately, completely missed the last step on his way down.

He fell in a decidedly unmanly way.

Stella and the neighbor hurried over to where Mac lay sprawled awkwardly on the sidewalk. Stella reached him first, being closer, and rested both of her hands on him, eyes searching carefully for any apparent wounds.

"Mac, are you okay?"

Highly embarrassed by this turn of events, Mac tried to brush it off. "Yeah, Stell. Just missed that last step." He tried to get up slowly, wincing, already sore in several spots.

The neighbor watched him struggle to get up and offered, "Need any help there, buddy?"

Mac eyed the guy and said, dryly, "No, no, I got it... Thanks."

Stella wrapped her arms around him anyway and tried to offer what support she could, still worried about him. "Oh, Mac, look. You have a gash there." She pointed to the side of his palm, where a fresh, ugly-looking bruise had already surfaced with a bleeding abrasion. "Let's get you inside. I'll take care of it."

"Stell, I'm fine," he declared, quietly happy that she cared.

"Still, I can fix it up before I start dinner."

As they were about to go up the steps together, the neighbor stopped them, saying, "Stella?"

Stella, and Mac, turned back to him. "Oh, sorry about that, Brad," she replied. "We'll talk again some other time. Okay?" She granted him another pretty, feminine smile.

Mac was restless, itching like crazy to go back inside.

"Sorry to ask this right now, but, before this happened, I was about to ask if you'd like to come over tonight, have dinner with 'Livie and I? We'd love to have you. And, after all you've done for us lately, you deserve a hot meal you don't have to make yourself."

Mac pressed his lips together tightly in irritation, and then saw Stella's face. She looked pleased and open to the idea. Just as she was about to respond, Mac interposed. "What a coincidence, I had just been thinking the same thing, Stell."

Stella glanced at him with surprise, while Brad eyed him speculatively, realization dawning in his clear blue eyes, after a bit.

Mac continued, smoothly, "Since we haven't been able to see each other much for a bit, and thinkin' about how you needed a night out, I thought I'd take you to your favorite restaurant." Mac added mentally, _Well, favorite around here, anyway._

Stella deliberated a minute, unsure of what to do, and then suddenly, a light came into her eyes, and she grinned. "Well, that sounds wonderful, Brad."

Disappointment knotted in Mac's stomach.

"But, how about we do it next week? Mac's right, we haven't been able to enjoy each other's company lately, and since he's had a rough day..." She pointed to his hand. "You don't mind, do you?"

Mac and Brad squinted at each other, both aware that the other was vying for Stella's valuable attention, even if Stella herself wasn't, at this point. If there had been a soundtrack to that moment, Ennio Morricone's immortal theme song to _The Good, the Bad and the Ugly _would've been playing.

Stella interrupted the two men's visual sparring, by saying, "Let's get this taken care of, Mac."

Mac threw Brad a triumphant look before wrapping his good arm around Stella's waist as she helped him up the steps of the porch.

Upon reaching the front door, she turned back to Brad and reassured him enthusiastically, "Next week, Brad. It'll be fun!"

It was Brad's turn to toss Mac a quick, victorious look, paired with a smug smirk. Then he grinned broadly at Stella, as he breezily stated, "I'll make sure of it, Stella." He winked at her.

Mac clenched his jaw (not because of the pain), and he subtly pulled her a little closer to his side as he and Stella returned back indoors.

When they got inside, she walked him over to the couch and helped him as he sat down gingerly.

"You stay here while I go and get some stuff to treat that. 'kay, Mac."

"Sure, Stell."

She went off to another room while Mac sat there thinking. Suddenly, he called out to her, "So, I didn't realize you and Brad had gotten so close." He had a hard time not jeering out the other man's name—sounded like the name of a male Barbie doll. Mac gritted his teeth together, a muscle flexing in his jaw, at the thought of the interloper.

"Close?" Stella responded, preoccupied. She finished collecting the supplies she needed and went to the kitchen, placing them on the counter. "We were just chatting," she responded, re-entering the room. Grabbing his good hand in hers, she helped him stand, then shrugged. "It's not like we're best friends all the sudden, or anything. But he'd probably be a good one, friend that is."

She aided him into the kitchen and stood by the sink, pressing a clean, white cloth to the abraded skin to stop the bleeding.

"I'm not sure it's friendship he's after, Stella."

She removed the cloth and turned on the tap, running clear water over his wound to cleanse it. At his retort, she smirked, thinking he was joking with her. The smirk slipped off her face after she glanced up at Mac's serious expression. "We're just getting to know each other. I don't even know if he's looking for that right now. He lost his wife a couple of years ago. Car accident." She twisted the tap off and started cleaning around the edges of the cut with a clean gauze pad, continuing, "I think he's kinda lonely. He doesn't get out much between the job and taking care of little Olivia... He's a good guy and a good father." Grabbing a soft, unblemished cloth, she commenced carefully drying the area she'd just cleansed.

Mac stared at her studiously, as he inquired, "And you find that attractive."

"Well, yes. But it's not like that between us." She plucked up a q-tip and squeezed some antibiotic cream on it, afterwards gently applying the translucent medicine to the wound.

"Yet," Mac muttered under his breath.

Stella was astonished at this, and abruptly peered at him. "Oh, Mac...he's just a nice guy, and we were just talking," she replied laughingly, downplaying his statement.

Mac flinched and grimaced at the pain as she pressed an antiseptic bandage atop the gash—and a little at Stell, too, as yet unaware of Brad's definite attraction towards her.

* * *

That night, Mac took Stella out to a classy restaurant that he'd had to pull some strings to get a table for last minute. But Mac was well aware that Stella loved the food there. So, it was worth it. He took a little extra time showering, shaved once more, purposely put on the cologne that was a particular favorite of hers, along with a nice suit that she had previously admired him in.

Since dinner together was old hat for them, there wasn't a lot of tension. Well, Mac had a bit, just a little nagging uneasiness buzzing in the back of his mind about the pesky Romeo next door foisting his attentions on Stella. But, after pretty much not seeing each other for several days, they had both genuinely missed each other's company. They'd gotten used to that constant connection.

On the drive to the restaurant, they slipped into their familiar, easy banter, discussing interesting topics with one another and making each other laugh. It was turning out to be a nice evening. Stella sat in the seat next to him, her beautiful, dark-fringed eyes, twinkling, the enchanting smile that continuously tilted her lips charismatic. She looked gorgeous, smelled great, too.

Mac was starting to relax, forget about Brad.

"Long, Cool Woman in a Black Dress" had just started playing on the radio, and he smirked, thinking it fit Stella and her attire that evening. Tapping his fingers on the wheel cheerfully in time with the familiar opening guitar riff, he pulled into the restaurant parking lot. They had gotten there quickly, as traffic was light, and this put him in an even better mood.

Inside the restaurant, they were politely escorted to their table. As Mac took a seat, Stella excused herself to go to the powder room. She hadn't bothered telling Mac what she wanted to drink, he'd noticed, trusting him to pick both something good and something she liked. A small smile lifted the corners of Mac's mouth at the knowledge that Stella had such confidence in him. When the waiter—a young man in his early twenties—appeared, Mac ordered a nice Montrachet for the two of them.

The waiter departed and quiet joy poured pleasurably over Mac in anticipation of the evening ahead of him with Stella: just her and him, out having another dinner together as they had a thousand times before they'd become engulfed in this mess and had had to give up their real jobs and lives, their friends. He shifted sideways in the chair and draped his arm with the uninjured hand over the back, humming softly under his breath, at ease with the world.

When she returned, striding through the room as confidently as a model on a runway, he reveled in the image she made. She was an alluring siren dressed in black, with a tantalizingly low neckline, bare back and a slit up the side of the loose, long flowing skirt, showing off her incredible legs—she looked stunning. Womanly curves swayed as soft, warm, sun-kissed skin beckoned the eye; it looked smooth, supple, just begging to be caressed. Her silky ringlets were up, like she'd taken to wearing it a lot during the sultry summer. Stella was glowing and her lips were curved in an enticing, almost secretive smile; she looked like she was well aware that she could have any guy in the room if she'd wanted.

And that was pretty close to accurate.

That included the one at the table, who, at that moment, couldn't pry his eyes off of her with a crowbar. He grinned, his heart speeding up a little at the sight of her, until the waiter, who had been standing next to Mac, unbeknownst to him, broke his focus, saying in awestruck tones, "Whoah. This night just got a whole _hell_ of a lot better."

Mac tore his eyes away from Stella and eyed the young man in annoyance. "Yes, well... I'm sure the lady will be thirsty when she gets back to the table so, if you don't m—"

"Hold up. That angel is with you? Damn, son!"

Mac cleared his throat and jerked his thumb back towards the kitchen, unamused. "That'll be all, for now."

"Uh, yeah...okay." The kid almost tripped over his own feet on his way back to the kitchen from trying to walk and gape over his shoulder at Stella at the same time.

Mac shook his head in exasperation, only to see two men in expensive business suits at the table next to them abruptly stop their conversation, casting appreciative glances avidly over her figure as she approached. The closer she got, the more they looked like they were a mere step away from whistling, pounding the table with their fists and letting their tongues roll out over the table like the wolf in the old Tex Avery cartoons.

By then, he'd had enough. As she arrived at the table, Mac stood and pulled her chair out for her, placing a proprietorial hand on her lower back and deliberately blocking her from their line of sight as she settled into her seat. He smiled smugly to himself, until a piece of the resumed conversation from their table hit him, something about 'grandpa over there' being 'jealous.' The smirk melted from his face and he gave them both a go to hell look, at which they smirked and then continued to blatantly leer at her, irritating him more.

_What is it with all these guys lately?_ he wondered to himself, as he sat, growing more cross by the minute.

Suddenly, waiter boy came back to the table and stood next to Stella, smiling obsequiously and asking her what she'd like.

And the rest of the meal went similarly: the waiter falling all over himself to take care of Stella, like she was his only customer. He continuously forgot about Mac and hovered at her side as much as he could get away with, chatting amicably with her. When they were able to get some time alone, Mac found himself thoroughly enjoying her company. But those parts seemed too fleeting.

The waiter, at one point, came over and offered her some more wine, even though she'd only taken a couple of sips. Stella, amused by the kid, gifted him with a smile that could easily daze any man in its path and covered her glass, telling him it was okay. Mac had lifted his glass for a refill, thinking he was next to get the offer, but the kid had already vanished.

Another time, Don Juan-a Be pointed to her wrist and requested, "May I?" She acquiesced, and he picked up her elegant hand delicately in his, ostensibly to admire her bracelet—but he kept holding it in his, stroking her wrist with his thumb and grinning inanely for what seemed like an eternity to Mac, talking to her. Finally, mercifully, the kid had to rip himself away from Stella's side to do his job. But he made sure to tell her, before he left, "I'll be around if you need anything, _anything_ at all."

When he left the table that time, Mac grumped, "You don't have to be so flirty, Stell."

"What?" Stella smiled at him knowingly.

"You're just gettin' the poor kid's hopes up for nothing. We both know he hasn't got a chance."

"Oh, Mac... I'm just being nice to him. Nothing more. He's a sweet kid. Working his way through college."

Mac snorted in response, knowing full well what was on the 'sweet' kid's mind, as he was a young man once himself.

He knew Stella was amused, even enjoying the attention a bit—she wasn't actually setting out to attract anyone or lead them on. But she _was_ trying to be polite and kind about it, which, in Mac's book, was too much encouragement. The unwanted male attention was galling and irksome. Couldn't they all see she was out with another man? Sure, it wasn't a date, but they didn't know that.

And then, abruptly, he wondered why he cared. She was free, she wasn't exactly his, and it wasn't surprising that other men wanted her. Stella was a beautiful, desirable, wonderful woman. Of course, men were gonna notice her, pursue her. It had happened a lot over the years. She was a catch, and they'd be lucky to have her. But it was different for Mac now, stuck between pride at having her on his arm, at his table, and great annoyance that any man would dare ogle her in his presence.

And this annoyed him more, the fact that it bothered him so much. Sal was one thing, he knew a big reason why he hated the man's attentions toward Stell was because the man was vermin, but the others, they had never bothered him before. Now they did. So much so, that he realized that he was actually jealous of them, possessive of her, protective, and that he wanted all her attention focused on him and him alone.

Mac watched her speaking to him—flashing a prepossessing smile from across the table, the cute, little dimple she had below the corner of the right side of her mouth appearing, her captivating eyes shining—before taking a sip of her wine, and he knew he was feeling those feelings again.

A desire to grab Stella and surrender, to take a jump of faith together into this ever growing love that kept pulling them irresistibly closer to each other, and another desire, just as strong, to hold her staunchly at bay, keep things eternally in a safe, friendship stasis, waged a bloody conflict within him.

He hadn't really dwelt on their kiss (and their heated make out session) on the couch and its implications, or the decision he'd promised he'd make concerning them, since that night, certain that it wasn't the right time. A part of him had been glad that Stella had given him permission never to deal with it, if he wanted.

That was then, though.

Now, the very real threat of other men, lurking menacingly behind him, breathed its fiery breath down his neck, just itching for him to slip up, turn away for a bit, and one of them would make her theirs. Then the decision would be irrevocably made for him.

He saw her lovely face encircled by golden candlelight, and a potent urge rose up within him to wrap her up in his arms right there in the restaurant and kiss her senseless, not caring who saw. In fact, a part of him _wanted_ them to see, see that she was his and that they should just give up before they even tried. His primal instincts had kicked in where she was concerned. And that meant...

_Suck it up, jarhead_, he told himself. He needed to get his butt in gear and make a decision. The men in this restaurant might be annoying non-starters, but the neighbor guy, Brad, he was a more serious threat. He'd made clear to Mac, if not to Stella yet, what his intentions were toward her, that Mac had competition, and he was planning on using everything he had to win her heart.

He could still hear the man's voice echo in his mind, _"I'll make sure you do."_

It was a repeating refrain in his head the rest of the night.

* * *

Two days later, the evening of the meet with Salerno, was a night like a thousand others Mac had seen in his lifetime. He had no way of knowing that, much like September eleventh, it would bear witness to the loss of the greatest love in his life.

Under the veil of darkness, Mac, Sal, Frank, Big Tony and Tom all stood perched in an alleyway across from La Scala restaurant.

Sal had just told Stella to go ahead into the place, and she had—the shadows in the doorway of the dimly lit restaurant seeming to suck her in, swallow her.

She'd just entered as a man walked past her out into the yellow-orange puddle of the street lamp light. He paused, tugged his keys out of his pocket, and all of them at once recognized him as one of Salerno's lieutenants.

"Get back! Get back! Get tha fuck back!" Sal ordered quietly.

They did so.

The five men withdrew, nestling against the rough brick siding of the alley, and carefully stayed hidden from the guy's line of sight. Or so they thought. Mac could've sworn that he'd made them. In fact, it looked as if he'd stared straight into Mac's eyes.

But the man, after a brief hesitation, walked to his car, got into it and drove away, making the crew, especially Mac, relieved. The dense, sinewy cords of tension running along his back and up through his shoulders slackened their rigid knots the tiniest bit. He'd been anxious about her having to be there all day, despite his best efforts. Still was.

The Feds had a plan to intervene in the intended shooting without blowing the operation or giving away the threesome's cover. But something like that, like Salerno and his boys lying in wait for them before the Feds arrived, having guessed what Gianni was really up to, could not only throw a wrench in things, cost many people their lives, but it could also, most importantly to Mac, cost Stella hers.

Mac stood watching from his vantage point in the alley across from the restaurant. It was muggy outside, suffocatingly so, sweat trickled down his back, and he shifted uneasily. The hair on the back of his neck bristled, his heart thumping heavily, as he squinted, trying to get a glimpse inside the restaurant, make out the shapes inside—her shape. But the glare of the street light outside was too bright, reflecting off the tinted windows, the interior too dark, like the inside of a shroud.

After waiting for interminable minutes, finally, mercifully, they saw Stella's signal at the window. Mac swallowed thickly and wanted to heave a deep sigh of relief, but he knew they weren't out of the woods yet.

"Alright, you're up, Big Tony, Frank. Check it over good."

"Yeah, we know, Sal," Frank growled, hurling a a peeved expression over his shoulder at him from beneath his broad, dark brow line. He and Big Tony scoured the street, making extra sure no one was about that would cause trouble, but the sidewalks were pretty dead right then, most people at home getting ready for bed, and the few people who were around were all steadfastly minding their own business.

The pair slipped out into the street and crossed it, then entered the place. They'd already scoped out the restaurant days beforehand; it wasn't very big, so everyone knew it shouldn't take them long to go over it. Sal glanced at his watch, the spot above his upper lip beaded with damp, and he trailed a shaky hand through his black, sweat-moistened hair.

Tom slouched, with a hand in his pocket, against the building across the alley from Sal, near Mac. He was playing it cool, but even he was a bit unsettled. They all stood there, silent, waiting for Frank and Big Tony to come back out, give the all-clear. Time seemed to be crawling backwards. But again, finally, one of them came back outside. It was Frank, and he yanked the bill of his baseball cap up and down to signal, then eased off inconspicuously to the car parked near the front of the restaurant.

But Big Tony hadn't come out yet. And that meant something wasn't quite right. Sal shifted restlessly, checked his watch again. It was getting close to time for them to enter before Salerno and his lieutenants got there.

They were running out of time.

An icy shudder of fear slunk up Sal's spine. He knew what would happen if anything went wrong with this and it even _smelled_ like it was their fault. Gianni had too much at stake. Under those conditions, even if Sal made it out alive, Gianni would be there waiting to murder him anyway. And he knew it would be slow and agonizing.

"You two, go check out what's takin' Big Tony so long—carefully!" Sal ordered. He slid his clammy hands down the sides of his pants to dry them.

Mac didn't have to be told twice. He was champing at the bit to get to Stella, make sure she was alright. He didn't give a crap if it was dangerous, if he ended up being a casualty, as long as she was safe.

She was what mattered.

Mac and Tom stepped forward when a blast shook the ground and sent a shockwave through the air, tossing both men, and Sal, back as easily as a careless child might kick his green, plastic toy army men out of his path. They hit the unyielding asphalt and remained there, unable to move. A small bit of debris flew through the air and sucked back towards the restaurant, hitting the three men, bruising and cutting them. But, their wounds could've been far worse.

They'd been across the street—and because of this, and the fact that the bomb wasn't as powerful as say, a car bomb would've been, their wounds were superficial, also the alley protected them somewhat.

Later, Tom found out from Scott that it had been a pipe bomb, on a very high shelf laden with kitsch that had encircled the inside of the dining area at the front of the restaurant, that no one had seen, or thought to check. They had been looking for guns strapped under tables or chairs, weapons easy to get to and use quickly. Frank and Big Tony had thoroughly checked and found nothing up front or in the restrooms. But Big Tony _had_ spotted something, checking on Stella in the kitchen with the help, and had told Frank to go ahead; he'd be out in a minute.

The men finally brought their heads up and peered at the restaurant, Sal blanched, wide-eyed, Tom aghast. Mac stared at the inferno before him, paralyzed, horror-stricken. Devastation slowly washed over his features as he reached a trembling, dirty hand from the ground beneath him out toward the flaming building, her. He tried to speak, but nothing came out.

As the wobbly men eventually rose from the ground, Mac remembered hearing the glass from the windows of the building shatter into a million, crystallic pieces—the same windows Stella had signaled out of moments before. There were violent flames licking at the front of the building, screams coming from somewhere over there, too.

Motherfucker!" Sal screeched, when he could talk. "Mother_fucker_! Bastard blew his own restaurant! Shit!"

Mac took in the carnage before him, and a pain scorched in his chest like someone had savagely torn the thick mass of muscle that resided there in half. He whispered Stella's name hoarsely. Then, he said it again, louder, anguish dripping from his voice. Misery plummeted into his intestines and mixed with gastric acid roiling tumultuously in his belly. Throat tight and sore, his vision blurred like falling rain melting and blending colors on a sidewalk pastel, and his breath came out of him in shuddering pants as his legs quaked like jelly beneath him. Someone kept repeating her name over and over.

It was his own voice, barely recognizable.

Mac had just observed his worst fear, his blackest, most traumatic nightmare, transpire in front of him.

He stumbled forward, on auto-pilot, an insidious numbness gnawing its way through his nervous system. A piece of him knew she was gone, but he couldn't help it, he had to be there—with her. Nothing else mattered. Nothing.

He swiftly crossed the street, before either Tom or Sal realized what was happening, tormented eyes on the burning building.

"What tha fuck! She's dead, you moron! ...You better get your ass back over here!" Sal shouted, as loud as he dared, after him. But Mac didn't hear him.

Mac got to the front of the building, and the heat pummeled his flesh, like the fiery, suffocating blast of a massive furnace. He heard the crack and pop of things burning. But all he could see from his red-rimmed, stinging eyes was orange flame and bulky billows of black, acrid smoke that filled his lungs, pluming inside them, violently choking him.

But none of his physical reactions really registered. He was in shock, and all he could think was, he _had_ to get to her, had to save her. Maybe she was still... Inching in closer toward the blaze, he vaguely heard the crunch of glass beneath his feet. His skin started feeling like it was boiling, bubbling up in blisters, hot, salty tears came rushing out of his gritty eyes, and he couldn't stop coughing

Then, suddenly, someone caught him up sharply by the chest, dragged him back, lugging him to an alley still intact two stores down from the former restaurant, out of sight.

It was Tom.

"Mac! For fuck's sake, man! You can't go in there. You can't go to her. ...You can't save her, buddy. She's—she's gone. _Fuck!_ I'm so sorry, Mac. ..._Damn it!_" Tom's voice sounded like the inside of Mac's throat felt, raw, shredded, like someone had scraped his vocal cords over a fine-toothed, serrated saw.

Mac struggled fiercely to get to her, get to her remains at least. All he could think was that he wanted to die with her, as near to her as he could get.

"Mac, listen, buddy, listen! You gotta get away from here, get outta sight. I'm not lettin' you in there, and if we don't get away from here, we're gonna mess up everything. Or Sal will kill you. You heard what Gianni said the other day. He meant it... You know Stella wouldn't want that."

"Stell—God _please!_ No...n—!" His anguished voice cracked sharply. Mac finally stopped fighting to go back toward her fiery tomb and sagged against Tom's side, laying his head on his buddy's shoulder, weeping piteously.

Hot tears of compassion welled up in Tom's eyes, spilling over at the sheer, soul-stripping cruelty of life that one good man had been asked to endure not once, but twice. He wrapped an arm around Mac's shoulders. The world without Stella Bonasera in it to make it better was unimaginable. Feeling utterly helpless, he wished more than anything he could do something, anything, to take away his old friend's pain.

Suddenly, Mac left Tom's grasp and fell to his knees, doubling over, gagging, then spilling his guts on the side of the alley.

By the time he'd started dry heaving through his tears, Sal had made it across the street to where they were.

"Just give me a reason, pal, give me a _fuckin'_ reason!" He had a gun out and pressed it into Mac's temple, hard.

"Hey, man, you saw what happened. Give him a minute, okay? Don't be a dick, Sal. You know what he's lost."

Sal sneered menacingly. "I could give a flying _fuck_ what he's lost, Tommy. He had it comin' anyway, tha way he treated her. Maybe he'll learn somethin'."

Suddenly—his bloodshot eyes haunted, distant—Mac's desolate, gravelly voice cut in between them, rasping, "Go ahead."

"No, no—nah-uh." Tommy replied. "You're comin' with me, end of story."

Sal pressed the bruising metal barrel harder into Mac's temple. "Listen, asshole, Gianni's protectin' ya now, but if you screw up any of his plans an iota, he not only won't mind if I kill you, he'll _expect_ it," Sal spat, his jaw clenched in anger, gun shifting slightly, still smashed into Mac's temple. He was aching to pull the trigger, Tom knew.

Tom tugged his buddy by the shoulders and forcibly dragged him back across the street. Sal tucked his gun away, looking around, and followed.

The distant sound of sirens filled the smoky air.

"_I stood still, vision blurring, and in that moment, _

_I heard my heart break. It was a small, clean sound, _

_like the snapping of a flower's stem." _

\- Diana Gabaldon, "Dragonfly in Amber"


	15. Chapter 14

Hey, wonderful peeps! How was your week? Hope it was good!:)

**To my faithful, World-wide readers**: Stay awesome...and cool. (No, seriously, it's frakkin' hot out there this time of the year.;))

**Chapter Notes**: The aftermath...;) Dun, dun, dunnnnn...!

But seriously, this was _very_ difficult to beta. I'm still not happy with it, in fact, I think I hate this chapter, but I'm tired of looking at it. (Any of my fellow writing peeps feelin' me?) Doesn't that make you want to read it?;) Feel free to skip it. You won't be missing much...

**Side-note**: I feel like Cagney's George M. Cohan, in _Yankee Doodle Dandy, _when he sent a wire to be published to his audience:

_To the theatre going public:_

_I wrote a play called _Popularity_. Mr. Harris and I produced that play. In the opinion of people we respect, it is a bad play. In this, we heartily concur. It is a _very_ bad play. I do humbly apologize and ask forgiveness for having presented anything at which you couldn't possibly approve. There will be five more performances. Please miss them._

Can't beat the classics.:)

The rest of the author's notes are at the end this chapter because of spoilers.:)

Have a great week, peeps!:D

* * *

**Chapter Fourteen**

"_I envy not in any moods _

_The captive void of noble rage, _

_The linnet born within the cage, _

_That never knew the summer woods:_

_._

_...Nor, what may count itself as blest, _

_The heart that never plighted troth _

_But stagnates in the weeds of sloth; _

_Nor any want-begotten rest._

_._

_I hold it true, whate'er befall; _

_I feel it, when I sorrow most; _

_'Tis better to have loved and lost _

_Than never to have loved at all."_

\- Lord Alfred Tennyson, "In Memoriam A. H. H."

_"When I think of pain—of anxiety that gnaws like fire and loneliness that spreads out like a desert, and the heartbreaking routine of monotonous misery, or again of dull aches that blacken our whole landscape or sudden nauseating pains that knock a man's heart out at one blow, of pains that already seem intolerable and then are suddenly increased, of infuriating scorpion-stinging pains that startle into maniacal movement a man who seemed half dead with his previous tortures, it 'quite o'ercrows my spirit.' If I knew any way of escape I would crawl through sewers to find it. But what is the good of telling you my feelings? You know them already; they are the same as yours. I am not arguing that pain is not painful. Pain hurts. That is what the word means."_

\- C.S. Lewis, _The Problem of Pain_

Later that night, Tom and Sal got the pleasure of telling Gianni the bad news. Though, at least it wasn't their fault. No one, not even Gianni, had thought that Salerno would really double-cross them, let alone destroy property of his own to send a message to Gianni and—since he _had_ to know where the arranged hit had originated—Salvatore Terranova.

That left Mac at the house, alone.

He preferred it, actually. He'd been grieving for hours—in the room _she'd_ occupied. It still smelled of that unique, intoxicating scent he'd savored and always associated with her. He could almost see her slender, graceful figure moving around the room, chatting light-heartedly with him, smiling that endearing smile of hers he loved, hear her sweet voice talking to him... The same words kept tumbling over and over in his mind, ceaselessly as the motion of a Newton's Cradle device: _It's not real. It's not real. There's gotta be some mistake. It's not real._

But, deep down, he knew it was very real.

And he'd cried until his eyes hurt, till the flesh around his orbital sockets was ruddy, raw and stinging from the salt in his tears, and until his head throbbed.

The devastating thing about her sudden death was the harrowing feeling of never getting to say goodbye, the subtle, often unwitting, arrogance that all men possessed of taking the presence of the people they loved for granted, just assuming they'd be there tomorrow to talk to, see and simply be with, the realization of that entitlement, along with the heart-clawing guilt, coming too late to matter. There was also the tragedy of a special life extinguished that had so much more to give, and how it could have been averted if just one thing had been changed.

As he'd stood in front of her funeral pyre the scales had instantly fallen from his eyes and cast away all his illusions of control and pain and love and a horrid, belated clarity swept in and crashed over him, tumbling him in its depths, and he saw with crystalline precision what an unimaginable imbecile he'd been and how much he'd lost with her death.

Mac glanced over and saw the shirt she'd worn when they'd kissed last week folded neatly on top of a pile of other laundry sitting on the corner of her bed, waiting for her to come back and tuck them away into her dresser. It mocked him. And he grabbed it up, mouth quivering, and held it in his hands, feeling the softness of it, then he pressed it to his stubbled face, as if somehow he could will her back into it. He could still hear Sal's words, another echoing, torturous refrain. _'...He had it comin' anyway, the way he treated her. Maybe he'll learn...'_

That's all he remembered. It was enough.

Self-recriminations, like dark, slimy oil, poured over him, they were vast and overwhelming and he agreed with every single one. The worst part was, of all people, he should've known better. He should've known better than not to soak up every bit of time he had, relish every millisecond of it, with the woman he loved.

But, after Claire, he had genuinely believed that nothing could be worse than loving and losing the person most precious to you in life. Somehow, somewhere in the back of his mind, he'd thought that if he never really acknowledged his true feelings for Stella, never allowed them out into the light, that it would make that love less real, and therefore, if they ever had to be parted, it would considerably soften the blow.

How incredibly wrong he'd been.

The problem with his supposition was that he couldn't control or attenuate his love for her. They'd never been able to help falling for each other, whether they'd openly acknowledged it or not. Because not dealing with it had never made the love that grew between them less real or powerful or deep, Mac was now left with the copious ashes of that love sifting through his hands.

He still had the lost connection, and the two decade's worth of memories of what they'd shared swirled around in his head, so the same unutterable anguish he'd suffered before writhed violently inside him. He just never got to know those parts of her that Tom had spoken of at the bar. Now neither of them would have those experiences because neither had been brave enough to take hold of it, even with each other

For so many years they had brushed along the edge of that love, balanced between deep friendship and something more, sometimes peering over the edge, sometimes tipping closer towards it, only to circumspectly right themselves again and stay safely on the side of friendship.

He cursed his hubristic cowardice and bitterly lamented the utter stupidity of never letting himself completely, outwardly love the beautiful, one-of-a-kind woman that was Stella Bonasera. He'd fucked up, big time. This was what he'd been avoiding for over decade now, his _bête noir_.

_...shoving my head in the ground like a damn ostrich, as if that makes them any safer when the shit hits the fan. What a fuckin' idiot!_

Mac looked over and saw the black metal of her gun beckoning him from its holster on her dresser. _It would be so easy..._

He shook his head. He could see Stella's face now, hear the words she'd uttered when he'd desperately considered that option after he'd lost Claire. She would be furious at him for even looking at the gun.

A fresh, excruciating pain stabbed sharply at him, transforming to irrepressible tears that leaked out of the corners of his eyes and dribbled down his cheeks, as he thought of her in a million different ways, all lost to him now.

He had fallen for her long ago; he couldn't even remember exactly when, just what she was doing when he'd recognized it. They were bantering at dinner after they'd had a blast racing each other in the formula cars. She'd said something that had made him laugh, spontaneously, freely, and he'd looked at her, drunk on happiness, and realized he wanted this for always. Not just banter and food and mutually fun activities, but _her_, and everything she brought into his life daily by just being herself. But then he'd precipitously caught himself up, realizing that it was love he was feeling, deep and abiding, just as he'd harbored for Claire all those years ago. And he'd responded by doing what he'd always done.

He ran. Shut her out.

Oh, not right then. But pretty quickly. He'd cast a token glance at his watch and remarked at the hour, paid the tab soon after, and they'd left. Then, at work the next month, he created plenty of space between them to get his feelings under control—and never allowed himself look that closely at their relationship again.

Mac had vigilantly held her at a safe distance. They remained best friends, and he readily admitted Platonic love, but, back then, he never again even let himself _think_ the word in its romantic sense concerning her, even after she'd left. He knew better; he knew how inextricably, intricately intertwined they were. Pieces of her grew everywhere inside him, like a vine, twisting itself around vital organs. The thought petrified Mac that if he admitted his true feelings for Stella there would be, could be, no turning back again, ever. And, consequently, if he lost her, he'd also be irrevocably lost.

He glanced back at the gun again, thinking of what lay ahead of him now, the capacious, suffocating blackness of death. There was nothing but unending, hollowed-out days and soul-piercing, hellish torment that he had to face alone now, without her.

Tom had been right. This time, in its own way, it had been worse.

He'd always wished he could've been there with Claire, somehow save her, or, at the very least, die with her. It would've been better than watching the towers from afar, Claire suffering inside without him, restless, impotent, not knowing for sure for an agonizing length of time whether she'd made it. Hope, which he'd sorely wished had never been conceived and nurtured in his heart, slowly being strangled to a garish, mottled death before his eyes as each day passed without word that they'd found her.

But this way...still not dying with her, being right there near her, watching it transpire even closer, but, yet again, utterly useless...unable to lift a hand to make a difference to save the woman he loved, knowing if he'd stood up to Gianni, braved his wrath, or if he'd just suggested they'd go into Witness Protection and asked the Feds to extract them after Gianni had revealed his plans that she go in first that night—if he'd just trusted his instincts, he could've saved her.

None of the victims or their families really knew September eleventh was coming that day, but with Stella's death, he'd been forewarned in a sense. He'd had several days to intervene. And he'd done nothing.

It was unbearable. He _couldn't_ go through it again.

Mac got up, walked over toward the dresser. He picked up her gun, clenched it so tight, his hand shook, measured its heaviness, pressed the flesh of his palm into the roughened grooves of the grip, and thought again how easy it would be, how quick the relief.

With his knowledge of weapons, anatomy and physiology, he wouldn't fail.

He struggled with the temptation for an excruciating eternity and then put the gun down again and sank down to the floor, covering his eyes with a broad palm, weeping tumultuously.

And then—all at once—Stella appeared there in the room beside his buckled body and knelt down and wrapped her arms around him. And he knew he must finally be having a psychotic break. Because her soft skin pressed into him and her warmth radiated into the numbness of his body, comforting his quaking, crumpled form, and he'd seen her fiery death. No one in that restaurant could've survived the blast. It was impossible.

She couldn't be real.

Stella soothed a gentle hand over his brow and shushed him, pressing a kiss onto the top of his head, afterwards pressing her cheek there. And they stayed like that for a while. Then she stood and pulled him up with her and compassionately wiped the tears from his cheeks with her fingertips.

"I'm _so_ sorry, Mac. I'm so sorry," she murmured. "I tried to get to you sooner. I tried to call, but your phone must've been turned off."

That's when shock, in jagged waves, washed over him again. It couldn't be real. Could it? Was she—?

Stella bent toward him and gave him a soft, sweet, consoling kiss on the mouth and pulled away.

And then, another tumult of emotions raged through him and he swept her up in his big arms and crushed her to him, sobbing afresh. He pressed his head to her heart to reassure himself, heard its beating. "Oh, God...Oh, God, thank you! Oh, G—d...!" His voice splintered in humble gratefulness.

She clutched him closer to her chest, and he remained there, her presence incrementally rinsing away the anguish that had tarred him earlier.

After a while, when his tears had abated, he peeled away from her, standing erect, and immersed the sponge of his memory in every piece of her he could soak in: her irreplaceable, beloved face, her exquisite bone structure, her swells and valleys, her mellifluent colors. So many colors, all full of warmth. She had bruises in a few places, some scrapes, her clothes were disheveled, dirty and smelled of smoke, but he'd never seen a more compellingly beautiful sight his entire life.

So, Mac drew her in again, pressed her between the bedroom wall and his body and started kissing her. Softly. Reverently. He kissed her forehead and her eyelids and her dark, feathery lashes fluttered against his his lips. He brushed his lips over her cheeks, and her temple, and the hollow between her lower lip and her chin. Then, he moved to her mouth. He treated it like it was a sacred object, a gift granted only him. And, in a sense, it was.

It began as purely and beautifully as the glowing flame of a mass candle, and stayed that way for a time. He savored her, venerated her with his lips.

And then they finally, after countless years of stubborn resistance, let go completely, melting into each other. Lips parted, deepening the kiss, soft tongue against firm tongue, and it became something more. The kiss became filled with insatiable yearning, and their hands started exploring each other's bodies, trying to take as much of each other in as they possibly could. He brought her in closer to his chest and she pressed the back of his head, urging his kisses on.

Then Mac pulled away. He hovered over her parted lips, and looked into her green eyes trying to tell her everything she meant to him, words seemed so paltry, inept to him right then. Stella reciprocated his gaze, unflinchingly returning his feelings. Both of them took in the other's breath, sharing it. It was the most honest and naked they had ever been about their relationship with each other. Before long, he carefully lowered his head to her neck and starting kissing there.

Stella sighed shakily, her pulse quickening. She pulled the back of his shirt out of his pants and ran her hands up the bare flesh of his back, pressing his sturdy masculinity and heat closer into her body. His ministrations lowered to her clavicle and then to the freckle above her suprasternal notch he loved so much, and her eyelids sank shut, indulging in the feel of his lips there, so new.

Wishing he didn't have to, he separated from her and yanked his shirt up over his head. Then he resumed kissing her fervently, Stella responding by lavishing him with ardent kisses of her own. His hands wandered to her shirt and trembled as he tried, falteringly—still amazed at the reprieve he'd been given—to undo the tiny buttons. Finally, he gave up and just ripped the remaining three buttons from the garment as he pulled it apart and off of her.

The shirt was ruined anyway.

Mac's large hands cupped Stella's face, and he tenderly ran the roughened pad of his thumb over the delicate rise of her cheekbone. They looked meaningfully at each other before taking the moment where they both knew it was going, where they wanted it to go. Then his focus lowered intently as he brushed his thumb over her smooth bottom lip before slowly pressing his mouth to hers again, and she opened up to him, welcoming him in, their kisses rife with love.

Mac encompassed her in his arms and lifted her, carefully carrying her to the bed, her face buried in the niche of his neck, and he pulled back the thick comforter and gently placed her down in the center, the woman he'd loved for so long but would never allow himself to have.

He then proceeded to make love to her.

At the end of it, when Stella, breathless, flushed, eyes closed and a blissful smile bending her lips, basked in the exultant afterglow he had created in her, Mac pumped several more times inside her, when an intense, rapturous shock slammed its fist into his very core and shook his body to the distal fringes of his being. It took him a few moments to plunge back down to earth after it, and when he did, he buried his face in her neck, pulse rushing like a freight train. His body still vividly hummed from the pleasure of the powerful orgasm.

Even now, the surreality struck him that this was Stella Bonasera, the woman he prized more than his own life. Joy, relief and wonder intermingled with the incredible pleasure that hurtled around inside him with the ferocity of a tornado. Electricity surged through millions of nerves inside his body and skin where she pressed into him. He wanted to be inside her forever and never come out.

At length, the throbbing of his pulse finally eased as he breathed into the column of her neck. A peaceful euphoria hovered inside his boneless and relaxed body, and he placed a few loving kisses on Stella's sensitive skin.

Stella clasped a hand gently around the back of his head, cradling it. Then she closed her eyes and pressed a cheek against the top of his head in adoration.

Eventually, Mac tugged the covers over them and they wrapped themselves up in each other, pale skin, reminiscent of his Irish forebears tangled up in her soft, sun-soaked Mediterranean flesh, like some sort of silver and gold Celtic knot, impossible to tell where one began and the other ended.

And peacefully, home at last, they slept.

* * *

They woke up a few hours later and made love again, leisurely, luxuriously exploring each other, both still trying to imprint every detail of the other—their bodies, their reactions to various stimuli—in their memories carefully, indelibly. Both found ways to elicit strong, pleasurable responses in each other; both took turns bringing each other to the edge repeatedly, not quite letting the other fall. Building up the final outcome. And though the sex may have been more languid, the end was just as intense as the first time.

And when they lay there, and their bodies had cooled, the thumping of their hearts slackened, he finally thought to ask her drowsily how it happened that she'd made it out of the inferno.

And she told him.

_While she was in the kitchen, obeying Gianni's instructions, waiting for the Feds to arrive, Big Tony came in and started checking the kitchen. He had just about deemed it all clear, when both he and Stella thought they heard someone slip out the back door. Stella immediately took off to the exit, Big Tony started after her, but was stopped by Frank, who popped his head in the kitchen door. Tony told him it looked all clear but they were gonna check something out. Frank shrugged and left, coming out and giving the signal._

_She was already at the door and had scanned the area, when she heard him threaten the small kitchen crew (of two) with their lives if they moved. A shadowy figure skulked down the alleyway and disappeared into the abandoned building next door to the restaurant through a rusty metal side door, and, quietly exiting the kitchen, she went in pursuit, Tony following hurriedly after._

_Big Tony made it out as Stella entered the next building. She stalked the guy cautiously, her senses hyper-aware of her surroundings, not sure who the person was or what they were up to, but her experience as a cop warned her of imminent danger, and she couldn't ignore it. It was dim, the only light in the place weakly filtering through two large windows, thickly covered with grime, up front, and it smelled musty. Old wooden crates stacked seven feet high littered the floor, along with some broken odds and ends layered with dust and spider webs._

_As she cast her gaze around, Big Tony awkwardly bundled his big body inside the building and squinted in the darkness. She remembered him mentioning to her once that his eyes didn't 'work so good' anymore. They caught each other's line of sight just as a cracking sound split the ominous silence, and they both continued toward it, following their own routes through the discarded debris._

_In the blink of an eye, a quick movement flickered to her right, where Tony was._

_Time slowed to a syrupy trickle in that moment, even though what happened next transpired within mere seconds, so fast, she had no chance to intervene. The malevolent figure popped up in front of him and whipped around his gun and Tony's eyes widened and filled with dread. The old man tried to bring his weapon to bear, but he was too late. Quick flashes from the muzzle fire of the gun lit up the the two men._

_Stella irrepressibly called out his name. His face wrinkled as intense pain smeared across his features and crawled over and rooted inside his flesh, followed by the warmth of his own hot, sticky blood swiftly seeping out between the fingers of his hand pressing on the wound, and he crumpled over, grunting._

_When she'd shouted out Tony's name, she'd alerted the murderer to her presence and whereabouts, and he quickly aimed a shot towards her before he promptly fled. The shot, aimed in haste, missed her, though she had instinctively ducked. As she rose to stand erect, a bright light burst forth at the far end of the building, followed by the creak of a door dragging shut and darkness re-blanketing the room._

_Stella ached for Tony, torn between wanting to go to him and chasing after his killer. What she would do with him once she found him (since she wasn't ostensibly a detective and couldn't blow her cover) never crossed her mind as a swirl of emotions caught her up. She only had a minute to decide, and so she raced toward where the light had shone._

_She swiftly made it the rest of the way across the room and out the door. Glancing around, her eyes fell upon a man running fast and hard away from the building, through the well-lit parking lot. She sprinted after him into the lot, when the ground shook beneath her, followed by a shockwave that abruptly tossed her slender body against the broad side of an SUV. Hitting the side of her head, she slipped into unconsciousness._

_Some Good Samaritan found her later, laying there, and grabbed a Paramedic's attention. She was taken to the hospital and examined and, by then, had wakened and was anxious to get in touch with Mac. She didn't know if he and Tom made it through, whether they'd entered the building before or after the blast. Scott, Tom's contact agent, found her there and discreetly questioned her, and then told her what she needed to know that they knew. _

_He told her that she was lucky to be alive. That, at first, they had thought she'd died in the blast. And if she hadn't followed the man who'd murdered Tony, that she would've died. Stella was upset at learning they'd found Big Tony's semi-charred remains, curled up in the fetal position, in the next building—only because the firemen had gotten the blaze put out before it'd had time to do the same amount of damage to the buildings on either side of it that it had done to Vito's restaurant._

_Scott assured her Tom was alive, so was Mac. Tom and Sal had dropped Mac off and had gone to Gianni and reported everything and, after they'd dealt with his fury, Tom had briefly made it away to contact him._

_He also told her that Mac believed she was dead._

_Relief had immediately flooded into her heart that Mac and Tom were okay. And when she heard that Mac had thought he'd watched her die in the bombed building, she insisted on calling him right away, wanting to reassure him she was alive. He acquiesced, but when she'd persistently tried, it went straight to voicemail. So, she impatiently finished her battery of tests. They made sure she had no concussion and treated the minor cuts on her and, finally, after being there for hours, she was released. Scott had given her some cash to grab a taxi and go back to the house._

After Mac heard all of this, they both lay there quietly, overcome at the reprieve that God had given them, exhausted physically and emotionally. Then, Stella's head nestled into the crevice of his neck, her small hand slipped onto his chest over his heart, and she curled her other arm around his torso, as both of his strong arms encircled her, holding her close. He murmured a sincere 'I love you' into her ear, and she pressed a soft kiss to his stubbly jaw and reciprocated his declaration with a heartfelt confession of her own, the stars and the moon vanishing in the dimming twilight outside their windows their only witnesses.

Then, the two slept peacefully at last.

"_My beloved is mine and I am his..." _

\- Song of Songs 2:16

"_He felt the warmth of that pleasure from which the proud shut themselves out; the pleasure which not only goes with humiliation, but almost is humiliation. Men who have escaped death by a hair have it, and men whose love is returned by a woman unexpectedly, and men whose sins are forgiven them. Everything his eye fell on it feasted on, not aesthetically, but with a plain, jolly appetite as of a boy eating buns. He relished the squareness of the houses; he liked their clean angles as if he had just cut them with a knife. The lit squares of the shop windows excited him as the young are excited by the lit stage of some promising pantomime... He was, perhaps, the happiest of all the children of men. For in that uninsurable instant when he hung, half slipping, to the ball of St. Paul's, the whole universe had been destroyed and recreated." _

\- G.K. Chesterton, _The Ball and the Cross_

* * *

_**K**_: Glad you liked the domestic scene.:) I like the thought of Mac and Stella having a family. The closest we got to it in the show was when the two visited Danny, Linds and baby Lucy in the hospital, with Adam, Flack and Hawkes. We got a little piece of them both holding the baby and, whoever wrote that into the episode certainly has my gratitude. I know it wasn't necessary. But they were cute together in that scene: Stella cooing over the baby, Mac's big grin.

Exactly. Stella is a beautiful, desirable woman, as Mac well knows. The only reason she hasn't settled down yet is because of her trust issues and the fact that she's in love with Mac. But, she did tell him that while they would always be friends, that didn't mean she'd never become attached.

This is true. Stella always had that flirty vibe, and, as you said, she was good at it. I forgot about that "Second Life" thing...

Well, I'm glad I surprised you two. I know I forewarned everyone that darkness was coming, etc., which I felt was giving some of the impact away, and I wouldn't have done it, but as this is my very first fic, I wanted to ease my readers into it, and also reassure them. As a fan, I witnessed (and paid attention to) a lot of fandom dynamics, and their relationship with the writers and producers of the shows they watched. A big cause of strife in fandoms (though not the only one), especially with shippers, was lack of trust. If there is no trust, the reader can't relax and enjoy the ride.

Yeah, poor Mac has been put through the ringer (and there's more to come). This might've seemed particularly harsh, but there was a reason behind it being done this way. It's one shocking bucket of ice water in the face/wake up call. Mac was always a slow, cautious mover. After what happened with him and Christine, he planned to stay a bachelor. Period. As Tom had pointed out, even before Christine, (canonically) he'd needed a big push to actually go to a serious level with anyone. Well, I felt he needed a bigger one after all he had been through up to this point in his life—his failures in relationships after Claire. And this would be a huge one for anyone, but a particularly resonant one for Mac.

If you want to know where your priorities lay and watch everything inessential and trivial fall away, making the truly important things to you unavoidably prominent, something like this will make it happen.

_**Lily**_: ahaha... Oh, Lily. You have the _best_ reactions. I think it's because you are such a genuinely kind, empathetic soul. And I also think it's because you really care about the characters. It's probably why you do justice to them when you write them.

I'm glad you thought the quotes apt and that I surprised you. I know you were looking forward to the drama and like it as well as you enjoy the other bits. I was hoping I wouldn't disappoint.;)

Thank you so, so much about what you say about the descriptions. I worked very hard on trying to put the reader there. I love the contrast you point out between the two restaurants, and how full of life Stella was before the last part of the chapter. Great eye.

Oh yes, it was very like Sal. I think it's safe to say there's no love lost between the two men. They both despise each other. But Sal, under these conditions, shows the true depths of his selfish callousness. Trouble—yes.;)

Well, Big Tony...you know his fate now...though he did try to keep his promise to Mac...

I'm so glad you liked the Mac/Brad competitiveness at the beginning. I was hoping you would.:) About Zach's standards: you are amazingly kind, lovely _**Lily**_. It makes me happy to have made you feel that way. OTOH, I feel he is so excellent, I could never even _hope_ to reach his level in the wit department. In fact, just thinking about some of the stuff I've already watched of his makes me smile rn. His humor is just...exquisite. You know what they say, "_non omnia possumus omnes_"—such profundity in that simple statement.

Ahaha about the Princess living up to her name.:)

Trust me, I care about my faithful readers. I don't like making them wait longer than usual, but, I figure they'd prefer a good reading experience over a shoddy, hastily posted chapter. And this last one was a bear to try to get right...

Thank you so much, sweet _**Lily**_ and beautiful _**K**_, for your reviews. As always, they are a great, and quite undeserved, reward for all the work put into this fic.:D


	16. Chapter 15

Hey, you guys! How've you been?:)

_**Strandstorken**_: Thanks so much! I'm glad you enjoyed it. Appreciate you dropping a line.:)

_**K**_: Hey, you.:) While reading this, I thought one of the nice things about reading yours and _**Lily's**_ reviews is that you two bring out different aspects from your different perspectives, and I enjoy that immensely.

I gave only a very little description pointing to her feelings at knowing him so well, knowing what he must be going through since she was aware of the context. I like how you point out it must've driven her crazy not to be able to get to him.

Also, I like how you point out, even if he thought of ending his life, that his Catholicism argued against it in his subconscious. And how their situation might have very well been reversed if she had been longer getting to him.

Thank you very much for saying it was beautifully written. It was so hard to try to get across that moment, to show not mere sex, but a love consummated, acquiesced to, that had been a long time coming. I wanted to show the beauty of it, so I'm very glad it had yours and _**Lily's**_ approval.

Thanks so much again. I wanted it to be very...Stella. She's capable, she's a cop, she's emotional. So, what's she gonna do? Act on instinct. And Big Tony tried his best to keep his promise to Mac. But, in the end, it was a combination of events that saved her life.

Thanks about the Big Tony thing.:)

_**Lily**_: My darling, sweet _**Lily**_...your reviews are a breath of fresh air. So inspiring—truly—assuaging all my doubts and motivating me to want to continue on, even when I'm weary and worn thin. You are a special, kind, generous human being, and a godsend.

I am so very happy it did not disappoint. This next chapter is full of fluff. Enjoy it while you can. Because the real storm is on its way.;)

That is why the previous chapter was such a bear. How do you show the agony that Mac must've felt going through this twice, cursing himself and his fate (uh...channeling a little Shakespeare here—love that sonnet!), knowing what he had ahead of him. How do you depict that? And then the consummation of a long time, suppressed love between two friends such as these? Very difficult if you want to attempt to do justice to it. Hence my frustration. But yours and **_K's_** reactions made it all worthwhile.:)

Yeah, it was hard taking Big Tony out, but, I felt it was a noble death for him.

Ahaha The 'At last. About bloody time,' bit was my _favorite_ part. I mean, I had to write to whittle down through all that stubbornness borne of fear from both of them to get there. Also, *ahem* perfect 'British Way.' LOL

She said that? That's pretty cool. Also, totally jello that you got to read all those interviews back when the show was on, you and _**K**_. I've always wondered what Melina and Gary thought of the ship and if they ever expressed it. Kinda like Mariska and Chris off of _L&O: SVU_. I've seen a lot of ships during my TV watching time, but a relative few have excellent chemistry. You know, the non-written kind like Gary and Melina had. But Mariska and Chris had it, too.

I was looking up something the other day and found someone had written up an article on a tweet, or Instagram...I think it was an IG, that one of them posted—writing up an article on a posted pic. Can you imagine? That's the power of good chemistry that lingers in the mind of the people who saw it and appreciated it. Mariska and Chris post pics when they get together sometimes, and tweet them or IG them and they _still_ get a ton of likes after all this time. Now THAT'S great chemistry. But, the point is, they know how to have fun with it. And people still love it, because it was a popular ship (another one that went unfulfilled). So, I've thought, if Melina and Gary had done great stuff like that when the show was on (I don't even know if they had Twitter back then, though, so...) , how much fun it would've been. But that would've depended on how they saw the ship, and since I wasn't into the show back then, I don't know.

Btw, I wonder what she meant, particularly, about the yin-yang thing. I mean, he's so solid emotionally and plays things a bit more close to the chest, she's more emotional but fun and overtly affectionate than he is. That's all I can think of right now on how they balance each other out...

When you asked that about the Chesterton quote, I realized I hadn't ascribed it to a particular book. So, I corrected it. It's from _The Ball and The Cross_. I don't think it's a Father Brown story. But I'm not sure, as I've only read _Orthodoxy_ and _Heretics_, so far of his books.;)

I love how you pointed out the symbolism of the moon and the stars.:)

As always, thank you so much, my kind, sweet Lily, and beautiful-hearted _**K**_, for leaving a review. I'm always grateful for them. Always.

_**To my wonderful, faithful World-wide readers**_: Thanks for reading this faithfully. You are appreciated more than you can know.:)

**Chapter Notes**: So...as I told _**Lily**_ above, this chapter is as fluffy as cotton candy. It takes place the day after. I tried to capture tinges of the beauty and sweetness and newness of the love they must be feeling after everything that happened previously. You be the judge if I did, awesome peeps.

**I just wanted to add**: if you live in the US, you know we had a tough week. I'm pretty apolitical, but I really feel all the politicization of _everything_ in our lives blinds and hurts us. When I get on social media these days, I see politics has brought out the worst in people. They are more judgmental, more angry, they look at people they disagree with and they filter out the positive about them and only see the negative. Which means, they aren't seeing the truth. Period.

No matter who the person is, every person matters, _every_ person brings something good to this world. They are not worthless, and _no one_ should be dehumanized, stripped of their good parts and judged by our faulty and incorrect perceptions of them. I feel our leaders have really let us down in this. They get caught up in petty squabbles, play games for politic's sake, pander to people's prejudices and anger for power. Watch them. They don't really care about us, about who gets hurt or about the collateral damage of their rhetoric. It's up to us, the people, to rise above them.

No matter who you are, _you_ are responsible for your own behavior. No one can make you hate, or be judgmental or narrow-minded. You can reach out and talk to people, respect everyone, be kind, be generous, not only with your money and things, but with your time. If you see someone who is lonely, it doesn't cost you much to chat with them. If you choose to live negatively, you punish yourself the most. Again, I look around social media and I see so many people who are easily offended, who want to form circles and their groups and judge the people outside of them. This is wrong.

There's an old Lewis quote, and it's not a new thought, but, the paraphrase is: you can tell more about a person by looking at something and asking them to describe it, than you can tell about the thing they are looking at. Another way I've heard it put is, 'Tell me what you see, and I'll tell you who you are.'

We need peace. We can't have peace and happiness in our daily lives if we're constantly judging and seeing the negative in people and things. We're also being self-deceptive and hurtful to others. And if you're wise and unselfish, you care about that. And if you don't care much about others, at least care about yourself. Your daily state of mind affects you, big time, whether you pay attention to it, or not.

Look at your timelines. Are they filled with negativity and hate and anger? Cleanse them out. I've made a new list on Twitter. It's a private list of the non-political, non-angry/non-negative people I follow. And I've been only reading it this week. And guess what? This week has been so amazing. So peaceful and filled with calm happiness.:)

I am tired of the pervasive anger and negativity. Aren't you? If you really focus on trying to look at the good in others, irrespective of who they are, if you listen to people instead of judging them, then people are more prone to listen to you, and respect you, and your life gets so much better. You largely get out of people what you put into them. Most people feed off of your attitude.

I know I tell you guys that you are awesome, etc. That's not flip. You are unique; _you_ matter. The world needs you, whether you feel it does or not. You have wonderful gifts that you can use to bless others. Don't keep them to yourselves. And don't ever let anyone make you question your worth or anyone else's.

Take care, special peeps.

Have a peaceful, happy and good week!

* * *

**Chapter Fifteen**

_"Making love with you _

_Is like drinking sea water _

_The more I drink _

_The thirstier I become, _

_Until nothing can slake my thirst _

_But to drink the entire sea"_

\- Kenneth Rexroth, _The Love Poems of Marichiko_

The next day, Mac woke up stiff, but happy, sky high on love. He rolled over to her side of the bed and found it cool and empty, then eased up, pulled on a pair of light blue boxers and a white t-shirt and walked out of the bedroom, eyes twinkling.

Melodious humming cheerily beckoned him to the kitchen, and he followed the sound to the door. When he got there, a smile burst forth on his face. She had breakfast, the sumptuous smells of which were imbuing the air with their heavenly scents, cooking, and was washing up a few dishes at the sink.

She began swaying her lovely, hypnotic hips, while still humming, when Mac silently stalked over to her. He wrapped his broad arms around the dip of her waist and hugged her tightly.

Stella yelped and jumped slightly at the contact, but then a smile of immeasurable fulfillment turned her lips up, and her eyes slipped shut as she rested her head against his, relishing the feel of his warm, firm, solid strength pressed against her back.

"Beautiful."

Stella's eyes opened and she smirked. "You know, Mac, some day, you're gonna speak to me like you do to my food, and I'm gonna pass out from amazement."

Mac buried a grin in her sweet-smelling neck and gently touched his lips there, arms still enfolding her. Then he mischievously nipped in the place on her neck that he'd discovered the night before drove her crazy, and she sucked in a sharp breath and clamped her eyes shut, thoughts of what he'd done to her last night, how he'd made her feel, flickering across her brain like a movie screen. "I _was_ talking to you, Stell," he rumbled.

Mac's masculine, roughened voice by her ear sent a shudder of pleasure through her frame. "Uh huh," she replied, a bit distractedly, trying to regain her composure.

He chuckled and turned her around to look him in the eyes. "You are the most beautiful sight these eyes have ever laid eyes on, Stella. Promise."

She faltered a moment in their good-natured banter, surprised at the profundity of his vibrant green gaze, swallowing emotionally in response, her heart clutching that he was so obviously as completely in love with her as she was with him, and that he was actually letting her see it.

After a few beats, she graced him with a smile and a peck on the cheek, then swiveled back to the sink, needing to get a handle on the overwhelming feelings surging up inside her, threatening to make her cry, breaking up the moment.

She picked up a bowl and sponge, and began cleansing it under the water. Upon gathering herself, she stated casually, "Tom left a note. He'll be back in about an hour. You wanna help me make breakfa—mmmff?" she started, only to drop the metal bowl and the sponge back into the sink, when he looped his arms back around her and swiftly turned her to him, ardently repossessing her with his mouth. Stella's eyes closed, and she curled two slender, possessive arms around Mac's neck, dissolving into him.

Their kisses were lush, fiery and eager; they couldn't get enough of each other.

After a while, his manhood now standing proudly at half mast, he pulled slightly away and reached up and caressed her soft cheek with the back of his hand, then swathed it tenderly with his palm, all while teasing her mouth, heightening her yearning for more. Then he deepened the kiss, bringing his hand to her robe and sliding inside it, cupping a breast in his large, warm hand and squeezing.

Stella moaned her approval.

They continued basking in the textures of each other, Mac fondling her tantalizingly beneath her robe, settling his mouth on her neck, nibbling and sucking the toffee-colored skin there, and by the time they drew apart for air, they both were trembling from need. She had her smooth, golden, shapely leg tucked around his pale calf, a hand on the back of his head and the other on his butt.

He breathlessly soaked in the image of her. Her chest was flushed that lovely shade that drove him mad and one of her beautiful, perfect breasts was poking out of the now disheveled robe. She was panting, her lips were swollen and pink from their kisses, and her luminous green eyes were alight with passion. She was staggeringly alluring.

Mac had a hand entwined in her curly locks, the other slid down to the hollow of her side, rested there a moment, still inside her rich blue robe, only to graze lightly, enticingly along her supple skin up her naked back and clasp her as close to himself as he possibly could without being inside her.

The feel of her hardened him further, and he pressed his lips to hers again, and Stella murmured something about breakfast on the stove in between distracted kisses, making him groan harshly, hungrily. He turned off the water behind her, then walked her backwards over to the stove, while laughter bubbled out of her between happy kisses, and twisted off the burners and guided her back over against an empty counter.

Mac uncinched her robe, drinking in her beauty (all for him now), Stella lowering her eyes, smiling and blushing at his brazen admiration. He found it utterly sexy and amorously bequeathed hot kisses to every spot he could reach, but always returned to her lips. And he took her there, again, in the kitchen, focusing entirely on her needs. He'd found making her come undone—watching Stella, knowing he'd created that incredible feeling in the woman he loved—had become his new favorite thing.

After she'd recovered, still shaking slightly, nerves tingling, he picked her up. She kissed him whole-heartedly, devotedly, and he carried her into the bedroom, over to the bed and placed her down on it carefully, like the treasure she was to him.

And then Mac claimed her again, the way she already loved, was becoming addicted to, and she flew spectacularly, toes curling, body buckling up into him. Her hands fisted tightly in the sheets, a high-pitched, stuttering whimper fell out of her lips, before her mouth dropped open in gasping ecstasy—and then, he let finally himself soar, groaning her name hoarsely, shuddering violently at the deep, pleasurable intensity of the orgasm that sex with her had brought out in him every time, every nerve enhanced and heightened by his love for her.

Sex with Stella was better than any he'd had since Claire. Not that he hadn't loved Claire just as much as he loved Stella. But love had different connotations now, it was different, just as they were two distinct, vibrant, gorgeous women. With Claire, love had been new, and wondrous and unreserved. With Stella, it was just as wondrous, just as unreserved, but he was different now than he was then. He was older, more experienced, less entitled, far more humble. He'd seen so much darkness, experienced so much pain.

The stark contrast of his feelings for her, compared to the pain and loneliness life had brought to him, the fact that he'd truly given up on love entirely, thought it was lost to a man like him forever, the fact that he'd known and loved her longer than any other woman he'd ever had in his life since Claire, that they could read each other so incredibly well, in the way closeness over a long breadth of time could grant you—that, coupled with the fact that he'd lost and then astonishingly regained her, made the love, and the sex, far richer.

Again, he found he never wanted to leave her.

He didn't want to leave her warmth to go out into the frigid air, or even outside of the room they were in; he didn't want to stop touching her or holding her. His need and love for her ran deep into his core; it was primal and cerebral. And he knew it was right, down to his marrow. He acknowledged it openly, with his eyes and then out loud to her.

After he'd remained there awhile, holding her, both basking in the glow of great sex out of love—in Mac's opinion, the best kind—he finally was able to move. He stood, tugged on his previously discarded boxers and t-shirt, hauled her up, gently, considerately, closed her robe and tied it again, keeping her for his eyes only, then led her to the couch and sat, taking her into his lap. Afterwards, he folded his arms around her and kissed her, his heart full to overflowing.

"I wish I could truly communicate to you," he said to her, at length, cupping her cheek in his hands, staring into her eyes solemnly, "how insanely in love with you I am."

Stella saw something there she had begun to think she would never see, the last of his walls fell, and he let her see everything: all the fear, and insecurity, the undiluted love and quiet joy. Her vision swiftly blurred, and a tear slipped out.

He smirked and lovingly wiped the tear from her cheek. "None of that now. Makes a man nervous to finally tell the woman he loves how he feels about her, and she starts cryin'."

She gave him a radiant smile and a small chuff of laughter through her tears.

"Stell, listen..." She gazed at him, the love in her sea green eyes making him pause a moment. Words could never hope to express how he felt about her. "...I told you before that I love you and respect you...because of that, I want to do this right—all the way. No more heated couplings in the spare room, against the counter, or anywhere else. You deserve better than that."

She opened her mouth to reply, but caught his look, his earnestness mixed with love, saw that he was trying to get everything out he wanted to say, and so remained silent.

"Stella, you deserve the best. Since you picked me instead of the best..."

She stirred in his lap, again wanting to interject, tell him that to her, _for_ her, he _was_ the best. But, once more, she knew he needed her just to listen right then, and she stilled herself.

"...Since you picked me, I promise to give you my best. No more games, no more hiding. If you ever feel like I'm puttin' up walls again, tell me. We'll work through it together. But no more sex right now. Not here in this sham of a life. Not until we're through this. And we _will_ get through this, like we always do, together." He brushed her cheek again lovingly, and her eyelids slid shut as she savored the feel of his touch, covering his larger hand with her smaller one. Then she opened her eyes, and he continued. "When we get out of this and you're wearin' my ring, like you deserve, then we can continue to have mind blowing sex."

Mac had finished and waited for Stella's response.

"I can see how determined you are about this, Mac, and, even though it'll be hard to keep my hands off of you, I agree. This isn't the best atmosphere for starting a new relationshi—" Her eyes went wide with realization, and she gasped.

"What?" He contemplated her nervously.

"Mac Taylor, did you just...did you just _propose_ to me?"

Heat rose in his cheeks, and he grinned. He grasped her close in his arms and replied, "I guess I did, Stell...long overdue." He paused a beat, then continued, "Will you have me?"

Stella pulled slightly away and responded, "What do _you_ think?"

"Well, hopefully, that's a y—"

"You better believe it, buddy. There is no one else for me but you..." She sniffed and added sweetly, in resolute sincerity, "Just you, Mac." Then she smiled jubilantly, misty-eyed, drew in nearer to him and placed a warm, soft kiss of adoration on his firm lips.

They sat there awhile, talking, holding hands and occasionally kissing, steeping in each other. Mac listened to Stella talk, feeling humbled and awed, thanking God again for the precious second chance he'd been given with her. In his eyes, God had treated him better than any man had a right to expect.

After some time has passed, Tom came barging into the house. "I come bearing resurrection gifts!" he announced, grinning and holding up a white bag stuffed with fresh bagels and cream cheese and a holder with coffees from their favorite local bagel shop.

"Oh, Tom, you didn't have to. I planned on making us breakfast. In fact, I already started it... Somewhat," Stella informed him, a blush prettily painting her face, momentarily averting her eyes at the memory of why she had stopped before she'd finished it.

Tom saw them cuddled on the couch and walked over to them. He placed the drink holder and the crisp, crinkly bag of bagels on the coffee table in front of them. The rich, warm smell of coffee and fresh bread filled the air. "Well, Stell, knowin' how..." Tom cleared his throat pointedly. "..._overjoyed_ Mac would be, that you were alive, and then draggin' home late last night and not findin' Mac in his usual spot on the couch, I figured you two would be too... What's the word I'm lookin' for...?"

Mac and Stella regarded each other and shifted a little uncomfortably—unabashedly glad with where they were now with each other, but a bit embarrassed that their old friend had figured out that they were a couple now and how they had christened that couple-hood already.

"...uh, tired from your activities last night to make breakfast. I figured I'd give you a break, Stell, and grab us somethin' on the way home."

After a few more words were exchanged between the trio, they commenced sorting out the coffees and bagels and ate heartily, Mac and Stella chatting cheerfully with Tom. They both knew that what they had to look forward to was even more impetus to get this operation done as quickly and efficiently as possible.

They just had to make it through alive, together.

"_...Come let me love you_

_Let me give my life to you_

_Let me drown in your laughter_

_Let me die in your arms_

_Let me lay down beside you_

_Let me always be with you..."_

\- John Denver, "Annie's Song"


	17. Chapter 16

Hey, you guys! How was your week? Hope it was good!:D

_**Lily**_: It makes me so happy that you felt the contentment of Mac and Stella in this. Also happy you got misty-eyed. You have such a beautiful, empathetic soul.

Oh yes, bigger storm(s).

Yep, Sal and Gianni...

Thanks so much for saying it was wonderful. I'm glad you got the love _and_ the playfulness and enjoyment I tried to instill. As you said, they certainly deserved it.:) But I never know if I succeeded in conveying it until I read your reaction.

I felt Stella certainly deserved seeing the walls fall, and I think Mac would've felt the same, being the man he is and so much in love with her.

I'm glad. Again, given how long they've known and loved each other, I felt Mac would be all in, _especially_ after the events of the previous night. Mac's a one-and-done kinda guy. He loved Claire wholeheartedly and he loves Stella the same. He wants that life with Stella, and he knows he can have it since they fit together so well. I believe, subconsciously, he always knew with Stella it would be that way. They were such great friends and went through so much together, the big stuff, and the everyday, mundane stuff, that there's no question of their compatibility or whether they could make a good marriage together.

Haha Yes, about the human thing. Mac's just like every other guy, when you're in love, you're in love. About the allure, of course! Stella is hot! He has eyes.;) Haha Plus, she's beautiful outside and (much more importantly) inside.

LOL! Yeah...Tom burst in and brought a nice bit of humor to the situation, in his own way. Glad you liked it! I enjoyed writing that bit in.:)

You'll see soon...;)

Thanks so much for dropping a review, sweet Lily. You are the best!:D

**To my special, amazing World-wide readers**: You guys are awesome! Thanks for reading my story so faithfully.

**Chapter Notes**: So, this is a short, and certainly more morose chapter, compared to the previous one. I don't know what your favorite parts will be, but, one of mine is Mac's thoughts on Stella. I always view Stella as an amalgamation of the written, intended character, and Melina's acting and her spirit. Now, since I didn't catch the show until too late, I haven't read many interviews of her (read: three, IIRC), but, from the little I've read of her actual personality, and observed of her on-screen presence, she comes across as this really nice, sweet, sunshiny person to be around who can light up a room or person, if she wants. She just seems fun and friendly and affectionate. Maybe from being raised around a big, loving Greek family? IDK. And, of course, I don't know her, so, maybe I'm wrong. But I went with my impression on this, and infused that beautiful, sunny spirit into the Stella in my fic.

Have a lovely, peaceful week. And, if you think of it, find one person to be kind to today. And don't forget, you are special. The world is _better_ with you in it. Wherever you're from, whatever you do, whatever talents you have, they all come together and make a unique and priceless individual. If anyone ever makes you feel differently, whether intentionally or not, or even it's just your own insecurities, remember, feelings are often wrong and misleading. Everybody has good in them. Everyone.:)

Take care, wonderful peeps!

* * *

**Chapter Sixteen**

"_...Your body aches_

_Playing your guitar and sweating out the hate_

_The days and the nights all feel the same..._

_And this ain't no place for the weary kind_

_And this ain't no place to lose your mind_

_And this ain't no place to fall behind_

_Pick up your crazy heart and give it one more try..." _

\- Ryan Bingham, "The Weary Kind"

Mac and Tom were traveling back to the house. It was late, and their faces were sharply drawn, lines underscored dull eyes that dimly reflected their beleaguered spirits. Neither talked, but both understood how the other felt, and that was as much solace as they could scratch up these days.

The two battle-tested veterans' souls had been sucked into, and submersed in, such miry darkness, some days, they had trouble telling whether their eyes were even open anymore. Living this life, like a rat, something that snuck around nocturnally and left behind nothing but destruction and filth, took its toll on any man, but especially on good, decent men.

As the truck jostled Mac about a bit, they passed a local park. Earlier that day, while the two had rumbled past it, he had seen a happy kid playing in the park with her mother and father. And, in that moment, a thick, splintered shaft of homesickness had pierced his heart so potently that he almost opened the door right there and jumped out of the vehicle, wanting to run back to his old life, with Stella, and never look back.

The only illumination that evening came from the vertical cones of light streaming from the occasional street lamp. Mac peered morosely into the darkness of the neighborhood at the small houses swallowed in black, allowing himself to briefly fantasize that he was now free, journeying home after a long night at the lab, returning to the welcoming arms of his beautiful, sweet Stella, now his wife, soon to be filling her in on the mundane events of his day there.

Even after he and Tom had gotten home, nodded a fatigued goodnight to each other, and headed their separate ways, the events of the past several hours burdensomely weighed on their minds and hearts.

Mac showered mechanically, barely noticing his surroundings, toweled himself dry, pulled on a fresh pair of cotton boxers and a clean white t-shirt, threw away his stained and torn clothes from that evening, and then had carefully slipped into bed next to his beloved Stella. He folded her up in his arms and snuggled into her warm, soft form in the darkness. Her only response was a quiet moan of contentment as she, even in her sleep, nuzzled into him.

Mac closed his eyes and sighed deeply. Her heat absorbed into him, lighting up all the dark, frozen spaces that riddled him, thawing out his soul. Knobby muscles loosened and a sense of love and well-being slowly filled him. After a time, he opened his eyes, now well-adjusted to the diffused light of the moon streaming into the room, and beheld her, still in awe that an irreplaceable gift like Stella Bonasera was his.

He wished with all his being he could communicate to her how much she did for him.

Earlier, his thoughts had been ensconced in all the things that had gone wrong, not just in the job that night, but in general, the loss. So much loss.

They were all working towards this goal, this...distant pinpoint of light at the end of an immeasurably long, bleak tunnel, and they all believed it would be worth it. And it _would_ be, if they succeeded. Both Tom and he were goal-oriented people, but even people like them could let their eyes slip sometimes.

That night, they had gone after Salerno—only, they hadn't known that's what they were going to do. Gianni had been extra cautious, didn't want any slip ups. So, no one but himself knew until they actually got to the place how it all would go down. He hadn't even told Tom, which was something rare.

Tom had gotten so close to him, he'd been to several meetings with Gianni's uncle and his subordinates. He'd even be going to the merger meeting the next day. And when the time came, with all the information he'd painstakingly gleaned, he'd be able to decapitate the Reina family, take it out from the head down. That was then, though. It was coming, soon, but it wasn't quite time yet, and so they had to suck it up and survive another day.

Gianni set Salerno up. Called in a favor. Had him and his lieutenants and several others of his crew set to meet up with another dealer who owed him a big favor, a business meeting with a guy that Salerno didn't know Gianni had ties to. And they ambushed him.

Tom and Mac had sensed something was off the minute they pulled up at the old abandoned glassworks building. They were right. When Salerno and his goons arrived, got out of their cars and entered the building (Salerno's guys going ahead of him, just in case), Gianni had previously ordered four of his other men—who'd been waiting outside, hidden—to slash the tires of their vehicles. After that, Gianni had instructed the group of four to cover the entrance and exit, blocking them in.

Inside the murky building, the dealer who'd help set Salerno up called out to him.

Once Salerno and his men got close enough in the dim, dusty, old brick building to see who was really waiting on them, but before they could draw their weapons, the shoot out began.

In the end, it had been a bloody mess. Gianni and his guys had taken out most of Salerno's men, even Salerno himself, with few casualties on their side due to the element of surprise. Only about three guys had been left, and Gianni had them turn and face the dirt-caked and spiderweb-ridden wall with their hands up. Then he'd ordered them to be patted down, and after they were deprived of the rest of their hidden weaponry, Gianni had them sprayed with bullets in the back. One by one, as the bullets tore through their flesh, each man twitched like they were being electrocuted, and then they slid down the wall, bodies and hands leaving dark red bloody streaks in the chalky, whitish dust-covered walls.

Gianni just calmly watched, standing next to the other dealer.

Not quite sure what good he was even doing anymore, Mac didn't know how much longer he could endure. He'd had to wound someone in self-defense that night. He was cut and bruised and had someone else's blood on him. Thinking again that this was a lot like war, just on a smaller scale, he felt too old for it now. Besides, he wasn't in the military. He'd done his time, served the country he loved and was proud of. But these parts of her, parts that every country had, were almost too dark for him to deal with anymore. They were too dark to be entrenched in.

To Mac, after playing the part so long, the slimy blackness seemed to seep into the porous crevices along the edge of his soul, and slowly, insidiously crept further in, blotting out the light he saw around him. In that moment, surveying the carnage around the place before they left, his gut twisted violently. The only two things keeping him grounded were helping Tom, and the promise of his future with Stella.

Even in his shower that evening, watching the dirt mixed with blood and water filter down the drain, he couldn't wash off the clinging tarnish of evil that threatened to subsume him.

Mac's eyes fell shut and he gently pressed his lips to Stella's temple, and then softly kissed down the side of her sweet-smelling neck. He inhaled her scent and a resonant peace spilt like fragrant, golden honey over his being. Yeah, he thought to himself, it was a lot like war. But in war, he'd never had this, never had the restorative warmth and light of the woman he loved to come home to. He'd had to go back to a small, cramped, uncomfortable cot.

As he'd vowed to her, they'd had no sex since his proposal on the couch. It had been very difficult, they'd come close to it a couple of times, but they made it work. They did sleep together, though, and he slept better now than he had since the towers fell. He figured between the sheer exhaustion of his days recently, and the indescribable comfort of Stella's arms, that his insomnia had no chance.

As Mac lay there, he wondered if, when Tom got a chance to have another meeting with Scott and inform him of what had happened that night, the Feds might actually call off everything. Though the loss of life had only been vermin killing vermin (no innocent blood had been shed), it was still murder, and the Feds could only let it go so long. This time had been bad. And, if it got too dangerous, he knew they'd _have_ to pull them in.

It seemed to be devolving that way.

But, right then, he was laying there with Stella in his arms, the woman who, in his heart, was already his wife, and he gently smoothed his roughened hand over her brow and then lovingly brushed her soft cheek. He heard her quiet, even breathing and couldn't stop looking at her, listening to her, reaffirming her life to himself. He'd done this every night, after the night of their consummation.

As he lay there with her, his nose tucked into the hollow of her neck, the sounds of her slumber like a lullaby singing him to sleep, he thought drowsily that he was never letting her go again.

Only in death would they be separated, if he had any power over it.

"_And I love you so _

_That people ask me how,_

_How I've lived till now _

_I tell them, 'I don't know'_

_I guess they understand_

_How lonely life has been_

_But life began again_

_The day you took my hand..._

_And, yes, I know how loveless life can be _

_Shadows follow me _

_And the night won't set me free _

_But I won't let the evening get me down _

_Now that you're around me..."_

\- Don McLean, "And I Love You So"


	18. Chapter 17

Bonus.;)

But, this may mean the next chapter gets out a bit later.

Take care, guys, and have a great week!:)

* * *

**Chapter Seventeen**

_"...I can't complain about it_

_I gotta keep my balance_

_And just keep dancin' on it..._

'_Cause, baby, whether you're high or low,_

_Baby, whether you're high or low,_

_You got to tip on the tightrope,_

_T-t-t-tip on the tightrope,_

_And I'm still tippin' on it..." _

\- CHVRCHES, "Tightrope" (orig. by Janelle Monáe)

Finally, the merger had gone through.

They were getting close to the end of their internment. They all simmered in a sense of relief that they were in the final stretch of their stay and that, soon, they would all be going home. It made them all a bit lighter, and it showed in their interactions with each other. They joked around more, Mac and Stella flirted and teased each other more freely, sweetly, and Tom talked openly of seeing Maggie and his kids again.

The Feds had to let the scam run a little, enough to get solid evidence of the crime to put away as many members as they could of the two families' crews, and then it would be done. Mac and Tom and Stella were just biding their time, at that point.

Tom had been to a meeting that afternoon between Gianni's uncle and his underbosses, and, while there, Gianni had reiterated his terms for his recompense from the merger. Tom had listened carefully, paid close attention to every detail, so he could accurately give his report later to Scott.

_The only person there in the inner sanctum from Gianni's crew was Tom. Sal had been the chauffeur, relegated to waiting with the car. This irked him, but he knew, by now, his place. They'd taken Gianni's SUV. And, on the way back to the house, Gianni, drunk on a mixture of triumph and arrogance over his success, had confided his further plans to Tom—the first time he'd told anyone. But another thing that had made him do so was hurt pride. At the meeting, even though his uncle had granted him an in back into the family as soon as the merger proved as lucrative as it promised to be, the whole tenor of the conversation was one of condescension on the part of his uncle and his underbosses. _

_Neither his uncle, nor his top guys, were convinced that Gianni could handle being a made guy. They'd known him since he was a kid. There was always something lacking in him. He just wasn't intrinsically family material. _

_Gianni knew they judged him this way, and it vexed him greatly._

_As they had walked up to the office of his uncle, they'd heard his consigliere state sardonically, "Gianni got lucky with this. You know that, right? He's a punk. I know he's your sister's son, but, even for family, there should be limits. He's just gonna screw up again. And maybe this time the mess won't be so easy to clean up after."_

_Gianni was fuming as he walked in. But he'd held back, knowing it was neither the time nor the place to expose his wrath. Then, during the meeting, another family member mocked him, one of his uncle's underbosses, a Mr. Galante. He was more subtle about it, but it was still there. Gianni'd had a harder time containing himself that time._

_By the time they'd made it out of Reina's office and off the highly secure grounds of his expensive mansion, Gianni was boiling. _

_Sal had irked him further when they got in the car and had driven some way. He'd asked how it went. Gianni hadn't responded, and so he'd rambled a bit, eventually coming around to who Gianni was going to bring with him into the family. And then he'd worked himself around to Mac again, when Gianni had snapped at him to shut the hell up and just drive. Sal swiftly complied. His face was still not completely healed from his altercation with Mac. His sunglasses sat at an awkward angle on his broken nose. He made quite a picture, Gianni observed._

_Gianni, angry as he was, had calmed himself a bit. He snorted, a cross between derision and amusement. He knew that Sal was jealous of Mac. And now, thanks to his scarred face, body and ego, he had one more reason to hate the guy. The man was overly competitive and so, wanting to make sure Mac knew where his place was in the chain of command (and that he stayed in it before he was tossed out), he wanted Gianni to overtly side with him. It made him more comfortable, fed into his illusion of control. _

_Sal's favored way of making himself feel powerful over those whom he saw as opponents, and possible threats, was finding ways of getting under that guy's skin. Always guys who couldn't fight back, though. Thus, sustaining the illusion. With Mac, he'd found one of his few effective weaknesses was Stella. Sal liked her, too, and Mac was obviously in love and in denial. Not that Gianni particularly cared—unless it effected business. So, he'd picked a good way to goad the guy. Unfortunately for Sal, he never knew when to quit pushing, whether it had to do with women or gambling. He looked at Sal's profile again and shook his head. _

_For his part, Gianni knew women just dragged you down until you were made. They were a distraction, and distractions could be fatal. No, he didn't plan on taking any girl seriously until he was set. _

_When he finally spoke up, after his reverie, Gianni told Tom that, once he got back in the family, he still had some friends, a few discontented guys on the inside who thought the family needed new leadership...and, later down the line, when the soft, old man was least expecting it, he would stage a _coup, _make sure to leave his uncle's body out in the open as a clear and bloody message for everyone to understand what would happen if they even _thought_ of retribution. _

_He'd also get rid of any faithful family members loyal to the old guy, and take special care of his consigliere and his underbosses, like Mr. Galante, make particularly gruesome examples of them. He'd paused and smirked at the thought. Afterwards, he told Tom all he needed was the merger to be as successful at profit making as he knew it would be. It would show he was a money maker, an asset. Then, not only would he be in, others in the family would take him more seriously._

_Tom just nodded during most of the conversation. Knowing Gianni just wanted to vent and fantasize; he didn't really need or want his serious input. _

_Then, Gianni finally quieted, fully relaxed in the knowledge of his future. He glanced over at Sal briefly, contemplatively a moment. And he thought to himself privately that, as for Sal...his days were numbered. _

* * *

Later that evening, Mac had been picked up by Gianni and taken to have a discussion. Tom would've been on alert, but, he'd been told by Gianni that he had one final task for Mac. This task was set up for the next night and would either make him, or Gianni would drop him, leave him behind, like he planned on doing with the rest of his crew, except Tom. He still planned on taking Tom with him. Tom knew that he'd find out the details anyway when Mac got back home, so he didn't sweat it.

Gianni wanted to go over the specific details with Mac and Tom was not needed. So, after a savory dinner of take-out from a favorite Italian restaurant of theirs—prosciutto, mozzarella and spinach stuffed chicken, covered with a creamy mushroom sauce over whole wheat linguine with a fresh green salad and a delectable white wine—Mac had gotten ready to leave.

At the door, before he'd left, he'd enveloped Stella in his arms and kissed her thoroughly, bending her backwards a little. She'd giggled at first and then had kissed him back ardently. Eventually, one of his large hands had wandered down to palm her butt, the other hand tangled in her silky, curly locks, pressing her as close into himself as he could get her.

As they broke for air, gazing at each other longingly, lovingly, they heard Gianni roll up outside, and Mac hugged her tightly to himself, inhaling the scent of her neck and making her giggle again. He grinned broadly at her response, then quickly kissed her cheek and rushed off.

So now, she and Tom were outside on the back porch. They'd had a cup of rich, steaming after-dinner coffee and chatted familiarly a bit. Then, they'd settled down to a quiet, amicable silence. The only sounds were the crinkly rustle of the paper Tom was reading, and the soft brush of Stella turning the pages of her book.

It had rained that afternoon and into the evening, after a long, hot, dry spell, and the sumptuous aroma of fresh earth after the rain (petrichor in the air, Stella knew, and had always loved it) relaxed her. A candle was burning on the side table where the remnants of Stella's coffee sat, its delicate flame flickering in the breeze. After a while, Tom turned the little red radio on. Someone had tuned it to a classical station, and Beethoven's "Moonlight" sonata filtered out softly into the cool dusky evening.

They continued like this for about an hour, until, suddenly, Tom broke the peaceful quietude of the evening by looking up at Stella, nestled into the pillows of the porch swing, a velvety, cream-colored throw covering her lap, and questioned, "When are you gonna tell him?"

Stella glanced up in surprise—and curiosity, tinged with a hint of guilt, colored her lovely features. "What?"

"Stell, I'm a married man. I've had five kids. I know all the signs."

Stella blushed and tried to look dignified. "I'm sure you do, Tom. But—"

"Morning sickness, you nibble your food, haven't been drinking your wine the past couple of weeks, or so, opting for water or milk. You've been sleeping more and getting tired easier, as well. Not ta mention—"

Stella expelled an exasperated breath of air. "Thank you, Mr. Holmes. I think I've got the picture." Stella looked chagrined, but, a little relieved, also. "Boy, nothing gets by you, does it?"

Tom grunted. "Can't afford ta let it in my business."

She was wearing another sundress that evening, this time a bright light blue. She already had that certain glow, that flush on her sun-kissed cheeks, and she had this general sereneness about her. She was striking, as only a beautiful woman in her condition could be, Tom observed. He was surprised that Mac had been able to keep his arms off of her as much as he had.

Stella brushed a graceful hand through her curls and sighed. _Confession time_, she thought wryly. She was actually surprised Mac hadn't caught on, but Tom had. But, then again, Tom _was_ a veteran father. And Mac had been very busy lately, getting home late, not always able to make it to dinner, let alone lunch.

Tom raised his eyebrows in expectation.

"Alright, alright." She paused, groping for the right words to express her suspicions and her feelings. "The truth is...I'm not sure. I'm late and, as you put it, I've had other signs as well. ...but, I've been too...I don't know..." She pulled at the tip her ring finger nervously.

"Too scared to find out for sure?"

Stella nodded. "It sounds odd, I know, but, much as I would love to be carrying Mac's baby, I know now is not the time to add in that tiny complication. He's got enough to worry about."

"No, I get it... I mean, it's unusual for you. You usually don't run from things. You're more of a face-things-head-on type o' girl." He smirked, as did she. "But, you're also in love, and under these conditions, tryin' ta make it out in one piece...you feel even more protective of him. And, yeah, a baby changes a _lot_ of things, even under the best circumstances."

"I'm so glad you understand."

"I do. But, I also think you need to face it, Stell. You need to find out one way or the other."

"I know..." she said, reluctantly. "But, it's not like I can go to my OB/GYN and have my little hunch checked out right now, can I?"

"There are other ways."

"What? A home pregnancy test?"

"It's pretty accurate. But, just in case, you can try multiple."

Stella looked a little flustered. "Sheesh! You really are a veteran father."

"Come on." Tom rose from his chair and held out a hand to her. "Mac's not due back for..." Tom eyed his watch. "...another couple of hours yet. That's plenty of time."

Stella trepidatious, but curious herself, acquiesced.

* * *

After running to the local drug store and coming home, Stella excused herself, and Tom had gone back outside and sat in his chair on the back porch. He had tried the best he could to focus on the article he'd been reading before they'd left, with little success. He kept reading the same paragraph, and finally, as time limped on, the same sentence, ceaselessly. At length, Stella emerged from inside the house and stood beside him.

He eagerly tossed his paper aside and stood to face her. "Well?"

"Well... You were right."

Tom let out a big whoop of joy and raised her up, swinging her around. She laughed, misty-eyed.

"Couldn't happen to a better couple." Tom gently placed her down, and she sat on the swing, hands in her lap, tugging at her finger again. He sat down next to her and asked, "So now we're back to, when are you gonna tell him?"

Stella ushered out a frustrated groan of uncertainty. "It's not that easy, Tom..."

"What do you mean, Stell? You're carryin' Mac's baby. The only other person who could _possibly_ understand what that knowledge will mean to him, besides me, is you."

"I _know_..." She stood and paced in front of him, gesturing animatedly. "You don't know how much I'm dying to share it with him. I love him _so much_." She said the last part quietly, earnestly, tears filled her eyes again.

Tom saw the look in her eyes, and he had no doubt of it. "But...?" he gently prodded.

She gathered herself up again and continued. "But...as also mentioned earlier, Mac has so much on his plate right now. I don't want to add another burden onto his shoulders."

"Stell, a baby is not a burden. It's a gift."

"I know, Tom."

There was that look again. He wished his old pal could see her face right then. "You know how he'd feel about not bein' informed right away."

"Yes, but, I also know he'll understand, eventually. So, I need you to promise me that you won't say anything about this to Mac...at least, not until his mission tomorrow night is completed and he's had some rest. He doesn't need the distraction. And believe me, this is one hell of a one."

Tom looked reluctant.

"You're an old pro at this, Tom. Mac's using his wits, flying by the seat of his pants. I just...I just want him to get out of this safe and alive. And anything I can do to help him, I will do."

It was Tom's turn to sigh. He rubbed the back of his neck uneasily. "Gee, Stell, I hate deceiving my best friend, ya know?"

"I _do_ know. I feel the same way. But, I really feel this is the best way to handle it."

"Maybe. But I'm certain he'd want to know, no matter what. I mean, I realize it's your baby, but it's his, too. He has a right to be told."

"And he will be. It'll only be for the next couple of days, Tom." Stella sat down and grabbed his broad, rough hand in her smooth pair and eyed him pleadingly.

Finally, after a few contemplative moments, he responded. "Okay."

"Thank you so much!" Stella hugged him, greatly relieved.

When they pulled away, he looked at her and said firmly, "But only for the next coupla days. No longer. 'Cause, like I said, I know Mac. I know how a man like him would feel about this, about his child, about _you_ carryin' his child. It's gonna sting that we kept it from him even these two days."

"And Mac and I will deal with that together. I wouldn't normally keep something like this from him, but...it's for his own good."

Tom shook his head.

"What?"

"It's just, you and Mac...you keep makin' decisions for the other's own good, and...it doesn't always pan out the way you plan. Maybe you guys don't know as much as you think you know. Ya know?"

Stella nudged him. "It'll be okay. It's just two days. And then I'll tell him," she promised, placing a small hand gently on her abdomen. "By then, we should be pretty close to being done with this mess."

"_...The storms are raging on the rolling sea_

_And on the highway of regret_

_The winds of change are blowing wild and free_

_You ain't seen nothing like me yet_

_I could make you happy, make your dreams come true_

_There's nothing that I wouldn't do_

_Go to the ends of this earth for you_

_To make you feel my love" _

\- Adele, "To Make You Feel My Love"


	19. Chapter 18

Hey, you guys! How was your week? Good, I hope!:D

About to delve into these great reviews. I loved reading how differently you guys went about trying to figure out what's coming next. It's interesting to see who might guess right.;)

_**Lily**_: Hey there, my sweet, lovely _**Lily**_. You're welcome. I had a day where it was actually so slow, I was restless. I'm so used to being busy, it was weird. Haha So, after a while, I figured I'd work on the chapter and put it out. Proof that miracles can happen.;)

I was sorry to hear about the rough days at work. I hope you relaxed on Sunday like we discussed—ahem! *side-eyeing you* The shooting/testing your patience comment made me LOL. :)

I'm so glad I could help. Very glad.

Well, Stella is awesome. I think that is one of her gifts. She sees someone she cares about in need and she's there for them. Even when it's subtle. Remember when Mac had to fire Aiden. She came and checked up on him. That was pretty cool of her. I think Mac's love for her imbues her with even more power to do that for him, though.;)

About the Twitter thing: so, I looked them up on Twitter a bit ago...she doesn't really tweet much (not that I can blame her—I'm still on my private happy list, that's one reason I'm still on there). I looked up Gary, too, and he tweets more. I have to say, he has a lot of Mac in him, but he also has this totally adorable side. Like, there was this pic of him with these kids with backpacks containing school supplies, something like that, and he was there amidst them, in military gear, wearing a big grin and he was just so adorbs, I just wanted to squish him, tbh.

Basically, since Melina is more quiet, it was harder to get much of her personality from her Twitter. So, I had to go from the interviews and her presence on screen, which speak well of her. Gary, well, he just comes across as this truly good man. Impressively so: humble, sweet, dedicated to helping others, etc. Before, I just knew he was a good actor. So, it's nice when you look up a celebrity (which, I don't do often, because, to me, they're just people like everyone else. I need something more than fame to make me interested in finding out more about a person, ya know?) and they exceed expectations.

Anywho, that's probs why Gary and Melina had such great chemistry. If she is indeed as sweet, fun, and affectionate as she seems, and he's the sort of guy he seems to be, well, they're both probably two wonderful people who can see the good in each other and value it.

The glass warehouse: I based that loosely on Capone's Saint Valentine's Day Massacre.

That's cool that you were hoping she was.:D I mentioned before that I like the thought of them having a family. IDK, I think Mac and Stella would've made beautiful babies and been excellent parents. Not that we'll be seeing that in this fic. I mean, their parenting skills.;) So, I'm happy you wanted that, and it's great that you guessed it.:)

Though I like the idea of Stella and Mac and a baby, there's a reason for it, which _**K**_ sort of pointed out...

I'm so very glad you like Tom. I hoped he'd be a likeable character.:)

I was really happy you and _**K**_ found it in character for her. I hoped it would be so.

Afraid for them all? ...and well you should be.;)

Thanks for the great reviews, my darling _**Lily**_. You are more amazing than you realize.

_**K**_: Thanks for saying it was beautifully written again. Means a great deal to me.

About Mac...it's interesting we both feel that way.

If he felt that inadequate, it would've been a shame. Mac was different than those guys, but what made him different made him stand out from the rest. Frankie, well, he was alright, physically (if I banish the thought of his creeper psychopathic personality and just go on looks *shudders*). Beauty is subjective. Every girl has their type. Frankie really isn't mine. He wasn't bad looking, btw, just...IDK...okay. Brandon was more attractive, but he was more like window dressing since we never really got to know his personality. Though, it was cool he was a fireman.

So, it's interesting, and a testament to the writing if Mac had that weakness. Though it's total BS, (ah, the lies we can tell ourselves and believe to make us insecure...), it's very human. Every human has their insecurities. If Mac felt he wasn't good enough for her, well, he was _so_ wrong, but the writers coming at his character with that motivation is a nice, realistic complexity.

And, actually, if Stella saw him the way he saw himself (too old or not handsome enough) she wouldn't have been worthy of him. Luckily, Stella (just like Mac) was an awesome character. Only someone shallow and flaky, which Stella is decidedly _not_, would be unable to appreciate a rare, special guy like that.

In fact, though this story is told mostly from Mac's perspective on things, if I had been doing it from Stella's headspace, then I would've used a few stanzas from Beyoncé's "Halo" to depict her emotions concerning him in the morning after chapter. It's pretty apt. She had to drop her walls of self-protection and trust-issues to be with him. And she sees and loves the beauty within him.

Ahaha on the bad timing. You know, you have a low-key, relaxed sort of personality, but then you have this strain of great humor that runs through you. It's pretty cool.

About Big Tony, I had a line in there, after she had told Mac what happened to her, about how they were both upset about his passing. Maybe I cut it out, though. I'd have to go back and check. If I did, maybe I thought it didn't fit right or something. Sorry about that. It was indeed an oversight. Big Tony deserved better than that.:)

Gianni trusts Tom more than any of his other guys. But, even with Tom, there are limits. Which you will see in this chapter...:)

Hope it lives up to your expectations...this is where things start going down.;)

Thanks for leaving reviews. I know how busy you get sometimes, beautiful-hearted _**K**_.

**To my World-wide, awesome and faithful readers**: Thank you so much.:D

**Chapter Notes**: Say a little prayer for our handsome, heroic Mac Taylor.

So, I mentioned before about how all of you guys have talents to share with others and bless them. I bet when I mentioned that word, one or more things came into your mind that you're good at. The other day, I was listening to something and heard mentioned that attitude matters more than talent or intelligence in being successful. If you work at bettering what you're good at, and you keep a good attitude, are good to others, are grateful for what you have, _consistently_, and don't quit, you are far more likely to be successful, than someone who is more talented than you with a sour attitude who is selfish, entitled and negative. I thought that was interesting, and wanted to share it. I'm curious as to what you guys are gifted at. I can only imagine there are so many cool, diverse talents amongst you, they would be astonishing.:)

Have a wonderful week, guys!:)

* * *

**Chapter Eighteen**

"_...Hope you got your things together_

_Hope you are quite prepared to die_

_Looks like we're in for nasty weather,_

_One eye is taken for an eye_

_Don't go around tonight_

_Well, it's bound to take your life,_

_There's a bad moon on the rise..."_

\- Creedence Clearwater Revival, "Bad Moon Rising"

It was around ten o'clock, when Mac dragged in the next night. Tom and a handful of Gianni's other guys, Danny, Nick, Rudy and Massimo, were out putting a shipment of heroin somewhere safe, to be cut and distributed. Gianni, Frank, Sal and a couple of other guys, Paul and Eddie, came back to the house with him after the job.

It actually was pretty straightforward, as jobs went—a pickup of the heroin before the group split up. No one got hurt or injured, there were no altercations. When the job, turned out to be so simple, too simple for a final test, Mac knew something more had to be coming. Though, Gianni had made no indication of such the entire evening.

The muscles in Mac's back and neck clenched in thick, taut bundles, and acids roiled and crashed in his stomach in unerring anticipation of impending danger as he entered the house, followed by the dangerous group of men.

Once they got inside, Mac glanced around for Stella, wondering where she was, hoping she was safe somewhere else, and that, whatever was coming, she would remain that way. As he peered toward the darkened, noiseless spare room, Gianni casually demanded a beer and asked Mac go to the kitchen to grab it.

He shrugged his acquiescence and entered the kitchen, and, when he returned, the living room furniture had been moved. The hairs pricked up on the back of Mac's neck and his grip momentarily tightened on the hard glass containing the beverage. He handed Gianni the cold beer and nodded at the furniture. "What's that all about?"

There was the sound of the pop of the cap off the dark, maple syrup-colored bottle of beer, followed by the sharp hiss of the release of gas pressure. Then, tossing the cap carelessly to the floor, Gianni took a long, loud gulp, afterwards, smirking forebodingly. "I have a surprise for you two." He eyed Mac and Sal. "Sal here's been wantin' a piece o' you for some time."

Sal shot a cocky sneer at Mac, his murky eyes squinting malevolently.

"Well, tonight, he's gonna get his chance. But...just so's ya know I'm bein' fair in this, it's actually a contest. Or, as I like to call it, this evening's entertainment."

Paul and Eddie snorted and jabbed each other. Frank stood there like a stone-carved warrior, resolutely immobile with an impassive face, arms folded.

_Shit! _thought Mac. _How the hell—_

But his thoughts were interrupted by Gianni. "What it actually is, is a fight for a prize." He glanced sinisterly between the two men. "A fight to the death."

The sneer Sal had still been sporting morphed into fluttering eyelids, followed by widened eyes and a gaping mouth as he swiveled his head sharply toward his boss. "Wait. What?"

"You both are only allowed to use the weapons on your person. Nothin' else. The winner gets to stay in the crew, and keep his life."

Sal started backing up towards the front door, vehemently shaking his head, saying, "Nuh-uh... _No way."_

Gianni eyed Paul, Frank and Eddie, and they readily drew their guns, two aiming at Sal, one at Mac, who'd already figured it was coming and hadn't moved.

Sal slowly pulled his knife from its sheath, palm-dampened hands trembling, and irately addressed Gianni, "Fuck this!" He jerked his jutted chin upward in defiance. "After all I've fuckin' done for you, Gianni?"

Gianni snorted contemptuously. "What have you done really, Sal? Set up a bad meet? Done menial odd jobs here and there? Dealt, and even then, you fuckin' stole from me, you fuckin' dickwad!" he spat venomously towards Sal. "You had the stones to steal from me. Thought you were so clever, that I was too stupid to realize you were skimmin' off tha top to fund your gambling debts, you pathetic waste of flesh?"

"Bu—"

Gianni held up his index finger. "Too late. I warned you, Sal. You're not only a liability and a fuckin' coward, but you're also disposable."

"You know what? Fuck you, Gianni! Fuck._You_."

Gianni stood there as if staring at an enraged ant he was about to crunch beneath his shoe, blinking languidly, body relaxed, and took another sip of his beer, unmoved. After a moment, he pivoted his head and contemplated Mac. "Nothin' personal here, Mac. I still don't know if you're solid, even though Tommy vouches for you. I figure you finally have a shot to shine, show what you can do. 'Cause, so far, it's been pretty lackluster."

"Fuck that!" Sal blustered. He turned to Mac. "Come on, ya piece o' shit. You wanna piece o' me? Come on!" He had one hand on his large knife and used his other hand to gesture for Mac to come closer. A savage look blazed in his black eyes.

Mac had a gun tucked into the back of his pants. But he didn't draw it. He'd seen the look Sal wore in men's eyes before. It was a dangerous cocktail of different parts anger and hatred, mixed with mortal fear—the eyes of a desperate man, ready to fight to the death for his life.

He assessed the stakes quickly. He had the upper hand technically, having a gun, but didn't want to kill or injure anyone. On the other hand, he was trapped, just like Sal. They both knew they had to fight. If they didn't, Gianni would have both of them slaughtered. Mac had a gun, yes, but couldn't out-shoot three men at once. He thought maybe he could drop Sal like a rock, if he could get close enough for a KO jab. If he could stall, somehow, draw this out a little, maybe Tom would get home soon and could talk Gianni out of this. That was the only option he had at the moment where no one might die.

But, he knew he'd have to take some hits. It was the only way to get close enough to Sal to knock him out. Sal may not have the same skill level and training that Mac had, but he had a knife, a fast and tumultuous weapon. And he wanted to murder him. Mac's only weapon, since he didn't want to use his gun if he didn't have to, was his body.

He crouched lower in a grappling position and circled Sal. Sal recklessly slashed out towards him a couple of times. Mac easily dodged these two attempts. He edged in a little closer and Sal stabbed towards his abdomen. Mac blocked it with his forearm, pushing Sal's hand wielding the knife down and away. As he did so, he got a punch in Sal's face. It was not as solid a hit as he would've liked, but it made him stumble back a little.

He regained his balance and stepped closer to Mac, slashing again at his abdomen. Mac dodged back just in time. Sal ruined his loose shirt, but didn't make it close enough to hit his target and cause Mac's intestines to spill out.

Sal was sweating profusely now. It beaded on his upper lip. His pupils were severely constricted, and the tiny muscles beneath his eyes, above his cheekbones, quivered. "Look, man, I'm not dyin' here. I got plans. Besides, you've had this comin' for a long time."

He struck out frantically and caught Mac's cheek, making him flinch and grunt as an acute, fiery sting lanced him and sticky, messy warmth started spilling down his face.

He _had_ to get closer, and fast. Sal merely had to get a single, lucky gash deep enough in a vital area with a major vein or artery and it would all be rapidly over.

Sal tried to stab him in his chest, but this time Mac caught his wrist in a lock and blocked it. He used Sal's balance against him and slammed his fist into his face once more. This time, Sal jerked back and shook his head disorientedly. His mouth started leaking red.

Sal spat a mouthful of metallic-tasting blood at him furiously, then bared his crimson-stained teeth. Mac drew back and kept ready.

From the sidelines, Mac heard Paul goad, "Just draw your fuckin' gun, _asshole_."

Eddie chimed in, "Maybe Sal was actually right for once. Maybe he doesn't have tha rocks to do this job."

Sal tossed a fleeting, derisive glance at them and then planted his eyes back on Mac. "Told you guys."

Mac wiped the blood oozing from his cheek off on his shirt. It was vaguely distracting.

Sal came in again at him, hurled his blade out towards his face three times, but Mac nimbly recoiled. Then, as he stepped back a little, and lunged once more towards his throat, Mac got him in a finger lock. He tried to get at a good angle to hit him, but Sal was kicking at him. Mac grabbed his pant leg and used his momentum against him again. Sal staggered unceremoniously backwards, losing his aim for a moment. Then Mac gave him a side kick to his knee. The force of impact was severe enough to collapse him to the ground, making him curl up and clutch his leg. He tried to get back up, but couldn't.

Mac attempted to bend down and acquire the knife Sal had momentarily dropped beside him to cling to his injury, but Sal grabbed it first. He pointed it menacingly at Mac and used the arm chair to awkwardly rise from the floor, his leg at an odd angle. Mac rose too. "Come on, ya son of a bitch. Come and _get me!"_ He roared it out, anger and agitation drenched every word—and suddenly, the back door swung open, and Stella entered. Shock wracked through her slender frame at the scene before her.

"Oh my God! Mac!" She ran towards him, but Gianni threw a short nod at Eddie and he promptly grabbed her. She struggled in outrage to escape his unyielding clutch, and fought so hard to get to Mac, she almost succeeded. But Eddie's big, beefy hand hit each cheek as if she were as impotent as a cotton-stuffed doll. This momentarily stunned her, and he got a secure iron grip on her.

Mac saw this, and he made the mistake of getting distracted, turning towards Stella and Eddie—and Sal pounced. He slashed out and got Mac's side. Mac winced a bit, but barely registered the piercing slice, followed by the throbbing burn, between the fresh rush of adrenaline and his wrath. Instinct forced him to spin back around, knowing Sal wouldn't hesitate to take him out, and then, he wouldn't get to Stella.

Turning in the knick of time, he hastily dodged Sal's next jab, pointed into his upper back. Mac grabbed him in another wrist hold—after he slashed the same side he'd already punctured twice more, causing more blood to seep relentlessly out—and the two men wrestled ferociously, falling to the ground. Sal had the blade hovering inches from Mac's liver, bearing down with all his strength to force it the last bit into Mac's stomach. Mac tried to twist the blade away from himself, and he simultaneously kicked out and hit Sal's bad leg hard. Sal hissed and drew back a little.

Stella fought to get to Mac again. "Mac! Oh God!"

Mac heard her get slapped sharply again, heard her whimper in pain, and in his fury and fear, he knew he had no choice. By the time Sal got in with the knife again, he'd grabbed his gun from the back of his pants, breathing rapidly now, his skin clammy, and racked a round in the chamber. They both had their weapons pointed at each other's chests.

Light-headedness began consuming his focus. Growing weak and drowsy from his blood loss, he finally squeezed the trigger. There was a popping sound, and suddenly, Sal froze, his eyes widened in horror, his face whitened, and his lips gnarled. Mac racked another one in the chamber and shot him again, not taking any chances, and he abruptly dropped the knife. Blackness mercilessly crept in on the edges of Mac's vision, a pervasive numbness and unbearable heaviness spread throughout his body, then, all at once, he went slack.

Stella witnessing this, thrashed fiercely in Eddie's powerful grasp, uncaring about herself, just needing to get to him. She cried out, tears spilling down her cheeks, her voice seething shakily, "Let me go! Mac! _Mac!"_

Gianni nodded indifferently to Eddie, and he let her go. She scrambled to him and checked his vitals, eyelashes damp, her hands quaking with agitation and adrenaline. Afterwards, hurrying to the spare room to grab her phone, then, rushing back to his side, Stella yanked off the sweater she had on over her blouse, pressing it into his profusely bleeding lacerations to try to staunch the blood flow.

She surveyed the garish, ugly scene that surrounded them and the people that had become part of their lives. Gianni kicked Sal, though he was clearly dead. Eddie and Paul exchanged money and joked with each other like they were at the close of a baseball game, one person's team winning, the other, making excuses as to why his choice lost. Once Eddie collected his 50 bucks and pocketed it, he looked down at Sal in disgust. "I knew he'd never make it. Once a loser, always a loser."

Aware that Stella was calling 911, they started out the door. Gianni looked down upon her, phone propped between her left cheek and her shoulder, having just dialed, her nostrils flared and her brow furrowed as several more tears slipped irrepressibly down her flushed face. She had one hand pressed at Mac's side, the other, sweeping a hand across his jaw, cradling it tenderly. He was so pale. "Hold on, Mac. Hold on," she murmured, unmistakeable love in her eyes intermingled with lines of deep anxiety on her face.

Gianni quietly said, "When they ask what happened, you are not to mention any of us, ya hear?"

Stella made no reply.

Gianni knew she knew the score though. It was up to her to come up with a convincing story about Sal. To Gianni, he meant no more than yesterday's rubbish left indifferently on the floor.

He slipped out the door, tugging his black zippo lighter, engraved with the gold face of a macabre skull on the front, out of his pocket. The lid made a metallic _clink_ as he opened it and proceeded to light a cigarette calmly. Sucking in that first, relaxing smoky puff of tobacco, he arrogantly thought to himself, Mac's girl wasn't stupid. She knew that if the authorities got even the slightest whiff of him or his activities, her 'friend' would soon meet an agonizing death—as would she—even if he did survive the wounds inflicted on him by Sal.

His shoes scratched on the concrete as he got into his SUV and then easily blew out curls of smoke from his lungs into the cool night air. He needed to talk to Tommy. Make sure he didn't get too pissed at tonight's little 'initiation ritual.' He was a good guy. A little careless about choosing the right friends, but...still his best man and a good guy. The only one he trusted of his crew really.

_"Of all the animals, man is the _

_only one that is cruel._

_He is the only one that inflicts pain _

_for the pleasure of doing it." _

\- Mark Twain, "The Lowest Animal"


	20. Chapter 19

Hey, you guys! How've you been? Busy? Slow? Happy? Sad? Pretty good? Hope you're all doing well.:)

_**Lily**_: Thank you, sweet _**Lily**_, very much.:) I so appreciate that you thought it was well-done. As I said before, I attempt to make it convey what I want, but I never know if I have succeeded until I see your reaction.:)

Oh yes. Mac was _very_ angry and protective of her. And can you imagine if he'd known she was pregnant? :/

I like how you empathize with both Mac and Stella's feelings here, and how their thoughts weren't consumed with their own pain, but they could only think of the other's suffering.

Oh yes, definitely darker.

Thanks so much for your insights, my darling _**Lily**_. They are always a great treat, a pleasure to read.:D

**To my awesome World-wide, faithful readers**: Thank you so very much.:)

**Chapter Notes**: Little bit of everything. ;)

Two quotes for the week. Little reminders to make life sweeter:

"(Some people) have a wonderful capacity to appreciate again and again, freshly and naively, the basic goods of life, with awe, pleasure, wonder, and even ecstasy." — A.H. Maslow

"He is a wise man who does not grieve for the things which he has not, but rejoices for those which he has." — Epictetus

Have a great, fulfilling week, wonderful peeps!:)

* * *

**Chapter Nineteen**

"_...'Twere bitter grief to him to have died himself; _

_and being escaped, how sore a woe_

_He hath earned instead—_

_Ah, some day he shall know...!"_

\- Euripides, _Alcestis_

Mac was much better, bored stiff, and itching, like a man crawling with fire ants, to be free. And he made it known to all and sundry.

For their part, Stella and Tom were just happy he was still with them. Though he had bled profusely, the wounds at his side were wide, but not too deep, had missed his organs, and the paramedics had gotten there very quickly.

Tom had been there all afternoon, joking with him and talking. Stella arrived after him and stayed. She usually took the evening shift, since Tom had nightly duties for Gianni. So, when he got home, he grabbed a quick shower and a shave, slept for five hours, and spent the afternoon with Mac, relieving Stella. He actually had had to force her to leave the hospital after they'd found out that his wounds weren't as bad as they'd first appeared. And even then, the first week, she stayed all day and night, barely sleeping, refusing adamantly to let him out of her sight.

Mac's eyes clasped onto her and he sat up higher on his bed, mesmerized by her radiant beauty, as she came in and changed off with Tom, chatting jovially with him before he left. She brought the light in with her with the vivacity of her smile, her infectious laughter, her golden skin, her bouncy, tawny curls, those big, sea green eyes spilling over with love every time she glanced over at him. Stella and everything she was, everything she carried with her wherever she was, that was home to him now.

He missed her—like some great, bottomless chasm of yearning had split wide open inside him at her presence, and an aching longing filled that fathomless trench like a dark, cold sea for the parts of her being that he'd already become familiar with and firmly attached to that had been denied to him for an interminable time—even though she was constantly there.

He missed sleeping with her, spooning with her, the way she nestled into and filled his crevices just right; he missed falling asleep with his nose buried in the crook of her sweet-smelling neck. He also missed kissing her, hugging her, holding her and the perfect way she fit into his arms like she belonged there.

She'd hugged him several times the past few days, held his hand for a long time in the chair next to him. Even gave him sweet kisses when they had a bit of alone time. But it wasn't the same.

The good news was, the Feds were ready to close the op. They had enough on the Reina and the Terranova families for a case tight enough to bring the mass of criminals down. Even if they hadn't, the events of the previous week would've made them pull the trio out. Luckily, they could get them out and still make the families take major hits.

As soon as Mac was discharged (and he was slated to leave in two days' time) they were shutting everything down and bringing them in. The three of them couldn't wait. That day, as he watched her place her things down on the couch in the room and then refill his white styrofoam cup with fresh, cool water, his grey-green eyes followed her slightest movement avidly.

When she sat down next to him, she said a little wryly, "Mac, if you keep staring at me like I'm the last steak and baked potato snuck in at a diet camp, I'm gonna get a big head."

He hastily threw his blanket aside and swiveled his body, dangling his hairy legs off the side of the bed, touching her knees. "Really?" He raised his eyebrows and grinned widely, mischievously.

"Maccc."

"What?"

"I know that look," she warned. "You're not cleared to be released yet. You know the doctor said no strenuous activity."

He shrugged, trying to pull off innocent and nonchalant, but instead looked guilty and full of glee. "And what makes you think I'm not obeying those orders."

"I know that look by now, Mac Taylor."

"What look?"

"Like a scrawny, hungry wolf gazing around a pasture full of fluffy sheep."

He moved off his bed, careful of his IV and guided her over to sit next to him. She complied, but eyed him suspiciously. He then abruptly sprung on her, peppering her face and neck with happy kisses. His pulse monitor alarm went off as his heart rate sped up, and she rewarded him with breathless giggles.

After a moment, she gently pushed him off, careful not to jar him or dislodge any tubes or wires.

Panting lightly, he looked up at her, quirking his head to the side like a sad-eyed, floppy-eared puppy begging for a meal.

"Please. That look stopped working on me our third year riding together."

"Oh, I don't know... Still works sometimes."

Stella harrumphed, stifling a smile.

He wrapped a broad, possessive arm around her shoulder and leaned close to her face. "You know, I've been _really_ good."

Stella smirked and rolled her eyes. "That's not what I heard. The poor nurses are vying over who gets to wheel you out the minute the doctor signs your discharge papers. They tell me you're driving them nuts. Trying to get out before you rea—"

Mac tugged her the rest of the way into him, kissing her ravenously, lovingly. One big hand brushed her cheek and down her neck to her suprasternal notch. He grazed a finger there as he kissed her tenderly, finishing up by nibbling on her lower lip gently and making her sigh.

When they drew apart, Mac ran a hand through his hair and groaned. "You're gonna be the death of me, woman! Comin' here lookin' beautiful and sexy as hell. Taunting me with what I can only sample, but not have for..." He looked at his watch, then his face drooped a little. "...approximately...42 hours."

Stella arched an eyebrow at him. "Oh? Have some big plans for when we get back home, do you?"

Mac waggled his eyebrows at her and returned his lips to her pliant mouth. His hand buried itself in the lush swirls of her hair as he pressed in as close to her as he could, deepening the kiss, repossessing her ardently, solidifying that she was really his now. He did so, and then proceeded to softly kiss down the side of her neck, following it up by brushing his warm lips lingeringly over the path he'd just kissed. She moaned quietly in response. Then he finally pulled away from her again, groaning. "I've _gotta_ stop punishing myself." His voice bore a marked hoarse tinge to it this time.

Stella saw his 'predicament' tenting his hospital gown. "Wow, Mac, I hope it's not time for a nurse to come in soon."

"Just wait till we get back to Manhattan, Stella. You're not leavin' our hotel for a week."

She arched her brow. "Oh, really? Those are some big plans you have there, Marine. Think you can live up to them?"

"If you only knew how completely enticing you are, Stella Bonasera, you'd marvel at my strength, resisting you for so long. But two more days is my limit. I'm not made of stone, ya know."

Stella bit her lip, afterwards replying, "Well, you're not so easy to resist yourself, Taylor. Although, if you're bad, tear your stitches and make yourself have to stay later, Brad has offered to come over and keep me company." She giggled when she saw Mac's look of chagrin, then cleared her throat. "With little 'Livie, of course. He knows I'm unavailable."

Mac grunted. "I'll _bet_." He grabbed her slender, graceful hand in his and looked into her eyes. They stayed like that for a moment, their feelings spilling out openly for the other to see. Then Mac kissed her hand and brushed her cheek and said, "God, I love you, Stell. So damn much. You have no idea."

"Oh, I think I have a pretty good idea," she said, the same love shining in her lovely eyes.

They sat and talked long into the night, making plans for the future.

* * *

The next day, Tom and Mac were reading quietly together after finishing lunch, when he excused himself to step outside the hospital and have a smoke. He thought of his old friend chafing at the bit like an overheated, rambunctious stallion to start his new life with the woman he loved and smirked, shaking his head. Then his thoughts turned to Maggie.

Unbeknownst to him, Gianni had come. He wanted to check out Mac, see how he was holding up, and, more precisely, find out what exactly the doctors knew about how he had sustained his wounds. Just to be sure. He arrived through a different entrance from where Tom stood, and went up to Mac's room.

When he got there, a nurse had just entered, leaving the wooden door slightly ajar. He waited just outside the portal for her to leave. As he did so, he idly listened to the conversation going on inside. At first, it was just banal stuff. Things about his next IV change, and blood pressure check.

But then, Gianni's ears pricked up.

"You're Mac Taylor, right?"

Mac was taken aback at the sudden question.

The nurse eyed him coquettishly and said, "I never forget a handsome patient."

"Uhh...I think you've mistaken me for someone else."

"Oh no! I remember. I used to work in New York, before my brother got sick and I had to transfer here to take better care of him." She shrugged. "He didn't have any friends or family who could swing the kinda care he needed."

Mac nodded.

"But the reason I remember is, you were shot in the line of duty. Some big hero. You're a cop, right? Somethin' like that?" She smiled flirtatiously at him over her shoulder while fixing his IV.

"Uh, I don't—"

"I was your nurse after they pulled the two bullets out of you. Well, for a few days anyway. That case was huge, I remember. It was in the papers for weeks. And I'd read about it after I got off my round of three day, twelve hour shifts in a row. I went home and slept first, and when I got up, I had breakfast and read the morning paper. I saw your picture by the write up...great picture, by the way... I also remember your cop friends visiting. One attractive girl with pretty curly hair was there a lot. You two seemed close. But I don't remember the guy who's with you today."

"Well, he's an old friend. We haven't seen each other in years. I actually just ran into him recently again..."

The look on Gianni's face would've frozen the balls off Satan's chief demon.

He didn't need to hear anymore. He swiftly left the hallway and took the elevator downstairs. When he got to the bottom floor, he ran into Tom. "Hey, there, Tommy." He slapped him on the back. "Here ta visit your old pal Mac?"

Tom eyed him and said "Uh, yeah. Yeah. What are you doin' here?"

"Well, Tommy boy, it seems plans have changed a bit. Thought I'd come and tell you in person, and check on our friend," he said meaningfully.

"Oh yeah, how?"

"I'm gonna need you a bit earlier tomorrow than we originally discussed."

"Okay."

"How's your buddy doin', by the way?"

"Uh, good, good."

"I'm sorry, Tommy. But, you know it had ta be done. Besides, it's been years since you seen him, right?"

Tom nodded.

"Well, a lot can happen in that time. A lot of changes. I know you trust him, but, I had to see for myself, ya know?"

"I know, boss."

Gianni slapped him on the back again, and said, "See ya tomorrow. Don't be late. You know it's important."

"You got it."

Tom walked on to the elevators, and Gianni watched him carefully and then continued outside.

Once he got to his car, he grabbed some smokes and shook one out of the package. Flicking open his zippo and hearing that satisfying scratch of the flint wheel, he lit up, had a speculative smoke. He believed Tom. His story still matched up with his old friend from the old neighborhood. Problem was, Tommy was too nice and too trusting. And the guy had obviously changed and taken advantage of them both.

But, he knew what he had to do. _No one plays me for a fool. Especially, no bastard hero cop_. He grunted to himself.

_I'll take care o' him good_, he thought, tossing out his cigarette butt at the end of his smoke and lighting up another. He started his SUV and pulled out of the hospital parking lot, easing into the flow of traffic, making plans.

* * *

The next day, Tom came into Mac's room a little earlier than usual.

Mac was already dressed, impatient for his doctor to do his rounds and sign his release papers. Tom normally would've been amused at this, but he was distracted. Mac had been asking him where he'd parked, when he got a better look at Tom's demeanor: his eyes were grave, his shoulders stiff and his feet restless. A large, black, heavy stone of dread dropped in his stomach.

"What is it?"

Tom swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing unsteadily. "Mac, I...I—"

"Just tell me, Tom. Hell, did..." It was Mac's turn to swallow thickly. "Is it Stell? Is she okay?"

Tom shook his head, gaze cast to the tiles there.

"Tell me." The tone of Mac's voice was one of quiet terror, his voice constricted tightly.

Inhaling swiftly through his nose, Tom steeled himself. "Mac, Stell's gone. I got back to the house this afternoon and Stella was missing. I thought at first that she had gone to visit you real early. But..."

"Go on." His eyes darted back and forth rapidly, every muscle in his face tense.

"Well, Gianni's got her."

Mac slammed a furious fist on the handrail of his bed.

"He called me before I left, wantin' me to get over there. Seems he came upstairs yesterday and heard a nurse spill her guts about how you were really a cop."

"Fuck!" He stood abruptly, began pacing, running a hand over the bristled hairs on the back of his neck.

"Mac, he still believes I told him the truth, but he thinks you tried to dupe him. Thinks you work narcotics. He's figured out you're partners... And he knows how you feel about her."

"You take me to that fuckin' bastard. _Now!"_ he demanded, jabbing an angry finger toward the door, his face flushed. "'Cause if he touches one hair on her head." He paused, trying to gain control of the violent hurricane of emotions hurtling around inside him, then continued. His voice was as shaky and rough as a pitted gravel road. "I swear to God, Tom—"

Tom put a bracing hand on his shoulder, trying to get him to stop running on the undiluted rage coursing furiously like white water rapids through his veins at that moment.

Mac saw the look in his eyes and knew. "Don't say it. Don't you dare fuckin' sa—!"

"I can't, Mac."

"Don't give me that shit, Tom! Not to me!" His nostrils flared as he tried to stride past him. Tom wouldn't let him.

"Mac, even if we both went in there, guns blazing, despite what the Feds want, he's in a secret location. He's playing it cautious until he gets back in the family. Which should be anytime now. But he has her with him. And you can bet she's well-guarded. If we go in there right now, we'd probably be dead and she _definitely_ would be."

"Fuck, Tom! I'll find a fuckin' way! I'm not waitin' for the Feds to intervene."

Mac made to leave again, and again, Tom halted him.

"He's keeping her alive right now for insurance. But she's still alive."

Burning tears filled Mac's eyes. "Damn it! Fuckin'—!" He covered his eyes with his hand a moment. Then removed it, vowing resolutely, "No one's takin' her from me. You hear! No one!" He glanced back up at Tom's face, and his heart stuttered. "There's more."

"I'm..." Tom exhaled a long breath. "Stell was gonna tell you this herself the day after your proving test, but since you were sliced up and sent here, she waited."

Mac stood there rigidly, waiting. Knowing by the look in Tom's eyes that whatever was coming would make all this a million times worse, if that was even possible.

"She's...she's pregnant, Mac."

His eyes widened as a searing pain roughly constricted his heart. Then he went pale with white hot anger, his fists clenched convulsively at his sides. Finally, a mask of calm purposefulness swept over his face. "Where do they have her, Tom."

Tom opened his mouth to resist, but Mac cut him off.

"Either you tell me, or I'll find her, one way or another. And don't even pretend that if this was Maggie that you wouldn't be doin' the same thing." His determined tone was hard and unforgiving as granite.

Tom knew he was defeated. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "Fine, I'll tell you. But you better stay within the rules. No revenge, Mac. Just a rescue operation. And not in broad daylight. You need to do some reconnaissance. I've only been there once. I don't have the layout memorized. But, it's an old industrial building, a paper mill."

Mac snatched up his black jacket and started out of the room. Tom walked quietly by his side. He knew they'd have to part ways before they left the hospital. Mac would have to take a cab, while he had to go straight from there to the place Gianni was hiding out. He intended to go and try his best to protect her until his friend came for her, or the Feds. Whoever got there first.

Mac's primal instincts had kicked in; his self-preservation instinct had gone. There was nothing and no one who would stop him. All that mattered was her. Tom had seen this sort of face on Mac before. He knew that Gianni and his crew should be afraid. Very afraid. If Tom had been a good undercover agent, was an excellent infiltrator, recon and rescue was one of Mac's gifts. He'd been an excellent marine. And he was a force to be reckoned with.

"_What happens to a dream deferred?_

_._

_Does it dry up_

_like a raisin in the sun?_

_Or fester like a sore—_

_And then run?_

_Does it stink like rotten meat?_

_Or crust and sugar over—_

_like a syrupy sweet?_

_._

_Maybe it just sags_

_like a heavy load._

_._

_Or does it explode?" _

\- Langston Hughes, "Harlem"


	21. Chapter 20

It's been a beautiful day filled with much laughter, sun, song, good food, and good company.:) This evening, I have been blessed to watch dusk outside my window with a candle burning on the mantle and great trees swaying gently in my vantage point. It's been incredibly peaceful—then there is the missive I recieved from my darling, irreplaceable **_Lily_**.

And so, given the time and the above motivation, I bring to you this bonus chapter.;)

Evening thoughts: "...Stevenson had found that the secret of life lies in _laughter_ and _humility_." ― G.K. Chesterton, _Heretics_

* * *

**Chapter Twenty**

"_If your enemy is secure at all points, _

_be prepared for him... _

_Attack him where he is unprepared, _

_appear where you are not expected." _

\- Sun Tzu, _The Art of War_

Mac sat against a couple of stacked, dusty crates surveilling Gianni's crew through a special set of military-grade night goggles. He'd found the perfect building for reconnaissance.

Gianni and his crew were hiding out in Milford Borough at the old abandoned Curtis Paper Mill. The place was largely surrounded by thick, leafy green trees. Frenchtown Road ran parallel to it, but it wasn't really that busy, especially at night, as Mac had already noted. There were a few fresh cut fields with summer-yellowed grass in the park, once you got through another layer of trees that ran along the road on that side. More trees and the Delaware River ran along the other side of the mill. It was quiet, semi-rural.

The mill was surrounded by two layers of fencing. It consisted of several decayed buildings, some with fallen exteriors, partial brick walls revealing the rusty metal frame bones beneath. Gianni and his remaining crew were ensconced in the main building, a large, charcoal-colored, five story building, full of broken panels of glass. Coppery-red corrosion covered the catwalks beside it, and it had four large smokestacks protruding up into the sky.

Mac had come up to the place on foot and at night, dressed in black and carrying the supplies he needed in a black backpack slung over his left shoulder. It hadn't been hard to get in. There were a few men guarding the building, but Gianni's crew wasn't large enough to fully protect the all the buildings, their entrances and exits, and the entire perimeter of the fence.

They were hiding, so there were no outer lights besides the ambient light from the street lamps on the road. There were lights inside, in the large room on the lower floor of the building. But the windows were covered by some sort of dark cloths, so as not to draw speculation about it. Only a tiny crack of light was visible on the lower side of one window that a cloth didn't quite cover.

Mac's first night there, he waited in the treeline by the place, surveilling the area from up on the grassy ridge by the river until it was dark enough. Afterwards, he came out into the open, close to the building. He'd then crossed through the trees, noting every detail around him, sights, sounds, smells, noises. It had been pretty quiet at that time of night, mostly the chirping sounds of crickets, the quiet, steady flow of water from the Delaware, the gentle rush of wind ruffling the leaves of the trees, and the rumbling of an occasional vehicle passing by. He traversed some old, cracked asphalt, hurried over the cheap metal fence, through a strip of grass, and, after peering around and listening intently, silently entered the building he'd picked for recon.

Though there were several buildings surrounding the main building, Mac had chosen the one diagonal from the location of the building where Gianni (and Stella) apparently was. It was a smaller, three-story, tan brick building. The windows in it were boarded up with light gray, weather-beaten boards, except for some slats torn free at the bottoms. Probably from local kids.

Mac carefully eased through the building, quiet and observant of his surroundings, up to the second floor. Finding a room with a good view of where he needed to do reconnaissance, he squatted near a window and pulled out his supplies soundlessly. There, he'd meticulously monitored for the night, alternating between his night goggles and binoculars, sitting on a dark sleeping bag he'd unrolled right under the window.

This was his second night, and he had a partial set of activity patterns for the crew already. They stayed inside all day, didn't exit till night. Their two vehicles, and Tom's Chevy, were parked on the side of the lot that was hidden from the street, near the river. They only left once a night, around eight, pulling out from the lot, headlights off, after the exterior guards swept the area—probably a food and supply run. After night fell, the guards, Eddie, Nick and Danny the past two nights, keeping watch by the doors on the inside, came out and guarded the exterior entrances till dawn.

Mac finished up his power bar and downed the last of his bottle of water, perched low by the window now. He kept his eye on the guys outside from his vantage point. The men did a perimeter sweep every second hour on the hour like clockwork. They were armed with 9mm pistols, using flashlights to glance over the grounds during their sweeps. All of them smoked, and once that evening, one left his position to bum a cigarette.

Mac snorted. Smoking. Leaving their posts. They weren't professionals at this. Which would make it easier for him when the time came.

Gianni never exited.

Earlier that night, he'd managed to sneak out, very late, when the guards were getting bored and tired, out of their element, and snuck past them to the window with the crack in the covering at the edge of an unguarded side of the building. He carefully peeked in and saw the layout of the room. It was big, broad, and there were only a couple of dim battery-operated lanterns in one corner shedding a low light. Foldable chairs stood in another corner. Scattered cots, unkempt blankets strewn on them, and an old table that had been cleaned off and that held miscellaneous objects sat grouped in the middle of the area.

Gianni, Tom and Stella couldn't be seen, but he thought they might be in a small office off to the side of the large, debris-filled room, where another small light burned. Outside of there, the rest of his crew sat around, smoking, playing cards and reading a magazine. All had weapons near them or on their person, guns and the occasional knife. There were large, metal shelves everywhere obscuring a few points and the floors were thick with dust.

As he sat there, watching the figures of the greenish-hued men in his night binoculars throughout the night, he knew the next evening was when he'd go in. Only the need for recon had kept him from charging in and rescuing Stella as soon as he'd arrived. But Mac knew Tom had been right. Charging in there without knowledge was reckless and would very likely cost her and their baby their lives.

When he hadn't been collecting and storing every detail he could, sitting there in the cold dark, his mind had gone back irrepressibly to his two great loves: Stella and his child. He kept thinking to himself that he should've taken the second chance he'd been given and insisted they be pulled out. But they'd been almost done, and she'd been ostensibly safe...

He swore again to himself he'd get her back.

He ached to see her beautiful face, yearned to touch her softness, hear her warm, familiar voice. He thought of her and his unborn baby, and hoped they were okay. Gianni was sadistic when he was angry. Still, he had to keep her alive for leverage, just in case the cops found him before the family took him in. He hadn't guessed the Feds were involved, had conjectured that Mac and Stella were undercover cops, after him for his dealing.

That's what he was waiting for, the full protection of the family and their lawyers. Gianni hadn't told them about how he'd screwed up with Mac and Stella. Any day now it would happen: he'd get a call from his uncle and then be taken in. And then, he'd surmised, his worries would be over.

Mac knew the Feds were closing in. But he also knew Tom hadn't been able to get away alone since the day he'd seen him in the hospital. And, therefore, he hadn't been able to contact the Feds since then either. Gianni had called and told him to meet at the old hideout right before Tom had gone to the hospital. He'd called Scott on the way up there, Mac knew. Scott had advised him to lay low. He intended to go in and extract them as soon as the op was planned and cleared. The red tape, that's what Stella's life was hanging on, her life clinging to a swiftly decaying tether contingent on the wheels of bureaucracy. And, if they got in, there was no way to be sure Gianni, trapped like a rat, wouldn't try to kill her.

No, he had to do this himself. One man would be able to get in and get out with less fuss—if he knew what he was doing. And Mac did.

The longer Stella was with these cold-blooded men, the higher the chance that irreparable damage could be done to her.

He couldn't even imagine what she'd endured already.

"_I wish I were close_

_To you as the wet skirt of_

_A salt girl to her body._

_I think of you always."_

\- Akahito, _Poems from the Japanese_


	22. Chapter 21

A follow-up.:)

_**Lily**_: Ah yes, the unwary nurse (who isn't as awesome as Dalia.).

Yeah, I didn't want to linger with time in the hospital.

About Sal, here's the background scenario I had in my head about that: the ambulance came, and Stella explained that he attacked Mac, they fought, and Mac had to kill him in self defense. Pretty simple and straightforward, though also keeping certain facts back. As the Jersey police would need to investigate, the Feds stepped in quietly behind the scenes and pulled some strings, since the case involved their on-going op. that was almost ready to wrap up.

Well, since you wanted to know about Stella, I stayed up later to beta this chapter as well. I'm incredibly tired rn, but feel happy I accomplished it.:)

You don't hear about how Gianni got her. Again, in my mind, for the background, I figured it would be pretty easy. All they had to do is show up at the house the day after Gianni found out, when Tom was at the hospital. She would be outnumbered, outgunned, and would _have_ to capitulate to going with them.

I actually did research to find an old, abandoned building in Jersey. The paper mill really exists, though it's scheduled for destruction by the EPA.

Ah yes, Langston Hughes. He had some good stuff.;) Though, that was one of his most famous poems.

I was hoping you would.:) It was a little respite of light sandwiched between the danger.

Like the snake/paradise metaphor...

Your wish is my command.;)

**Chapter Notes**: This was a hard chapter to write. Writing heroic, determined Mac was easier. Writing our beautiful, awesome Stella Bonasera experiencing this situation, was far more difficult. I wrote it, and _I_ felt protective of her!;)

It makes me a little wistful for the series. Stella and Mac were just two great lead characters. Two of my absolute favorites. Great writing (I mean, with writers like Zachary Reiter and Timothy Lea, it's kinda hard to go wrong) and two charismatic, incredibly likable actors like Gary and Melina with rare, great, unwritten chemistry made for a great draw and a good show.

So, since you guys got three chapters in one week, the next chapter may be longer coming. The previous two were short, so it was easier to beta them. But the next one is the penultimate chapter, and it is longer. There's that and the epilogue, then this fic is done, guys.

I have another one in the works that takes place in the lab. It's not a case fic, sorry for those who love mysteries, but I am indifferent to them, and so it's something not interesting for me to write.

But, there _will_ be a couple of touches on cases. It has a theme running through it, and it's similar to this one in that it's another way that Stella comes back into Mac's life after the series' end, and it's a Mac/Stella fic, because, well, they're my faves—ship and characters on the show. But I do love the other characters on this series. As I said earlier in this fic, the writers did a great job on them and that's what drew me, and kept me watching the show (till Melina left anyway. Then I stopped my Netflix binge-watch.:/)

I intend it to have all the characters in it. In fact, I have nine chapters written and already Jo, Danny, Lindsay (she has the biggest side character part rn) and a small bit of Adam, Flack and Sid are already in it. Oh, and Angell, I went au and kept her alive.

It starts off with Mac in a very dark place. It's a fluffier fic for fall. I'm thinking of posting it, but the thing is, it's not finished like this one was before I posted it. All I had to do with this was beta it every week, which made it easier and quicker to get out. If I start posting the next fic after this one, there will _definitely_ be longer waits in between because I'll have to both write out each chapter and beta it. And getting it written depends on how the muse strikes me that week, how busy it is, etc. And as for beta-ing your own work, well, it's not easy. And it takes quite a few read-throughs to get it decent, and that takes time. I mean, except for the pre-written chapters, which will still need to be beta-ed, it will probably take at _least_ two week intervals for chapter updates, perhaps longer.

But, due to some outside encouragement, (ahem, you know who you are;)) I'm thinking seriously of posting it.

Just a heads up.:)

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-One**

"_...He battered his tiny fists to feel something_

_Wondered what it's like to touch and feel something..._

_Monster,_

_How should I feel?_

_...That night he caged her_

_Bruised and broke her..._

_Violet wrists and then her ankles_

_Silent pain..."_

\- Meg & Dia, "Monster"

Stella had had to watch someone die in front of her.

Ever since he'd absconded with her, Gianni hadn't said much to her, neither had the rest of the crew. To them, she was a traitor—an object, planned for destruction. Tom hadn't been able to say much to her either, because there were too many people listening and watching. She did catch, from overhearing a few excerpts of conversations here and there, that Gianni had found out Mac was a cop. Beyond that, she knew she was there because of revenge.

The first night had been bad. Gianni hadn't only taken her, but a dealer and cutter of his, Victor, who had been caught sampling some of the wares. Turned out he was re-cutting Gianni's purer version of heroin and keeping it for his own personal recreational use.

Gianni was furious.

The man had worn a gag, as did she, but it only muffled him. And she'd been forced to watch as he was tortured for hours—hours of the stifled screams of another human being, his miserific pleadings for mercy. They ricocheted around in her head, until all she could think, over and over was, _Stop! Please stop it!_

They did, eventually.

She could still see his eyes when they'd finally ended it—unnaturally widened in indelible horror.

The second night, she'd made the mistake of trying to escape. Tom had been ordered to go with Massimo to do a supply run. Gianni'd been busy, and she had been ignored mostly, for an hour. So she'd tried to inch towards a dark corner in the back slowly, imperceptibly. Almost made it, too. But, in the end, she'd been caught.

And Gianni had plenty of anger to spare.

"Listen up, cop bitch, you're not goin' anywhere. You're only gonna be on this earth a little while longer anyway. The only reason you're here in the first place, is because I need you in case I have ta barter because of your stinkin' pig cop boyfriend." She was on her knees, and he grabbed her face, which was already bruised and cut, dirty—as was the rest of her body, from laying on the ice cold, filthy concrete floor, and from being banged up and bound since they'd taken her. His hard fingers pinched her cheeks roughly. "You two messed with tha wrong guy."

Gianni let her face go, and she tumbled backwards. Then he took off the black belt around his waist.

Stella became afraid then, not sure whether he planned on raping her or beating her. She quickly calculated his personality. She was sore, tired, cold, hungry, and it made it harder to think clearly, but, from all she knew of him, she didn't think he was the rapist type, even for coercion. She could believe it of Sal, but not Gianni. He was a thug of a different sort, Stella thought to herself. Which meant he wa—

_Thwack! _

A sharp strike seared its stinging welt across her back and the side of her torso, breaking the skin. A red line of blood followed the torn line of risen flesh and seeped up into her dress as a smothered, high-pitched cry rent the air. She clamped her eyes shut in pain.

He looked inhuman, like some malevolent demon, as he beat her across her back, also catching the sides of her arms and her legs and feet that had been poking out from under her crumpled body, curled up in the fetal position on the floor. Frightened, tormented, but angry, too, Stella breathed deeply and rallied up her characteristic Bonasera strength. She kept the cries in after the first strike.

But this only served to make Gianni angrier.

"What? Are you tryin' ta show us how tough you are," he scoffed. "You'll give in eventually." Another brutal lash. Stella could barely keep her agonized cry in that time. "They all do. There's only so much pain a human body can _take_." He kicked her for emphasis as he ground out the last word. She gave a small muffled grunt, but nothing more. "You just have to find their threshold." He bent down toward the floor and looked in her eyes. His eyes were black, glittering vehemently. "Don't worry, I have time."

A half hour later, bloodied, bruised, swathed in swollen welts and marred with gashes, her white sundress riddled with red, Gianni, tired and sweaty, had worn himself out. "This is hard work, you guys." One of his minions snorted.

Blurry darkness hovered at the corners of Stella's vision.

Gianni decided it was time to switch off with Eddie. He brought her up on her knees again. She swooned a bit, before holding her ground.

Eddie grabbed the belt from Gianni's hand and held it around her throat, choking her. She gagged harshly, one hand pathetically wrapped around the small bump in her belly, the other pulling uselessly at the leather around her neck, trying to loosen it.

Hot tears streaked down her face through the dirt as Eddie chuckled softly. Bastard was proud of his work. Enjoyed it. Something Stella noted fuzzily as she started to see spots before her eyes.

"Told you, boss. It just takes da right hand." He'd done this before, multiple times.

She collapsed to the ground on all fours, then weakly tried again to grasp at the belt wrapped around her throat, but by then, she could barely think, let alone put any real effort behind it.

And, finally, a cold smile escaped from Giannni's cruel lips. "Yeah...just don't kill her, asshole. We may need her later."

"Whatever you say, boss." The man savagely ripped the belt from her neck, causing her to cough violently. She sucked in air around her gag as she sagged the rest of the way down to the dirty ground.

After she got enough breath back in her to raise her head, Eddie rose his beefy hand and hit her in the face, forcefully. Stella saw stars behind her lids and her mouth opened wide in pain, but no sound came out.

He hit her again and again, focusing on her face.

Stella could only think about her unborn child and Mac, in that moment. Between the consuming black numbness overtaking her and the pain, she vaguely wondered where he was right then, hoped he was safe. As long as Mac and her baby were spared, she'd be okay.

She quietly begged God not to outlive either, like she had her parents. Mac was worth so much to this world, brought so much goodness and light into it, and her baby, _their_ baby—

Her thoughts jaggedly lost their focus, her brain felt like it was stuffed with cotton. As Eddie switched back to the belt, using the buckle part, unlike Gianni, she swaddled a slender hand again on her stomach defensively and curled in a ball to protect her unborn child.

If she could just make it through...

Her last tormented thought before, close to oblivion, finally she gave in, was of the likely possibility that her child would indeed either die within her, or, live a life never knowing its mother, just like she had never known hers...

A muffled scream of anguish pierced the stale air inside the mill.

"_In this short Life_

_That only lasts an hour_

_How much—how little—is_

_Within our power" _

\- Emily Dickinson, "1287"


	23. Chapter 22

Hey, you guys! How've you been? Did you have a nice week? I sincerely hope you did.:)

_**Lily**_: Your reviews were perfect, and appreciated very much.:)

The quote/poem at the end of that chapter is so beautiful, one of my faves of that sort. A friend recommended a complete volume of Rexroth's works, and I read it and loved it. Though he didn't write that one, he translated it.

You have such a beautiful, empathetic heart. I have to say, I felt bad for Stella as well. _Very_ difficult to write, definitely. :(

Your descriptions of Gianni and Eddie were spot on. As for getting what they deserve...you'll know part of the answer by the end of this chapter.

Thank you so very much for the compliment on my writing. It means a great deal, considering the source.:)

Here it is, as promised.;)

**On a side-note**: The lovely, but quiet, Melina actually posted on Twitter today—an unexpected, but pleasant surprise. She looks just as stunning now as she did on the show. And she has even more than that: what a beautiful spirit. Nice.:)

**To my world-wide, faithful readers**: You are awesome and very much appreciated.:D

**Chapter Notes**: Only one chapter left of this fic...:)

**Two quotes for the week**:

"For myself, I find I become less cynical rather than more—remembering my own sins and follies; and realize that men's hearts are not often as bad as their acts, and very seldom as bad as their words." - J. R. R. Tolkien

"Though we travel the world over to find the beautiful, we must carry it with us, or we find it not." ― Ralph Waldo Emerson

Have a wonderful week, peeps!:)

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**Chapter Twenty-Two**

"_I met a traveller from an antique land,_

_Who said—'Two vast and trunkless legs of stone_

_Stand in the desert. . . . Near them, on the sand,_

_Half sunk a shattered visage lies, whose frown,_

_And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,_

_Tell that its sculptor well those passions read_

_Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,_

_The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed...'"_

\- Percy Bysshe Shelley, "Ozymandias"

Getting ready in the light of dusk, the sky an ominous slate gray, Mac was tense, as he contemplated an unknown outcome.

Night came at a crawling pace.

He'd checked the weather forecast earlier. Rain was due that evening. This would help. Gianni's crew would be easier to overcome if they were cold, wet and unfocused. It had that effect on trained men, let alone these guys.

He'd already figured out his insertion route: he would cross the alley that paralleled the building on the side closest to him for cover. Then he'd go for the guy covering the entrance at the back of the building first.

Having already thoroughly stripped and cleaned his Glock 17, he had then filled the clip full, racked one in the chamber, taken out the clip, and put in one more bullet, knowing well that one extra round could mean the difference between life and death. He slipped the clip back into the textured grip. Altogether, he had 18 rounds, plus two extra 17 round clips.

Mac had already switched out the barrel that it came with for a longer, threaded barrel. He'd then put it back together and twisted on a suppressor. It was one he'd modified with a slender white line down the center for aim. It was older, though a good one, an AAC Ti-RANT 9 he'd purchased semi-recently. But the rain would still be needed to help muffle the metallic click.

Taking a sip of tepid coffee out of a thermos, he grimaced. It was instant, but better than nothing. The taste of coffee made him flash back to the day of his and Stella's first kiss, after he'd surprised her with the creamer. A vein jumped in his clenched jaw, as he drew his Ka-Bar out of its sheath and ran the seven inch blade over a whetstone.

It was getting late, about two in the morning. The light had been out for several hours inside the building. They were probably sleeping. The sky was an orange-gray, and the splatter of rain hitting the muddy, stoney ground had been the only noise for awhile.

Almost time.

When he'd peered out at the sentries with his night goggles, about thirty minutes earlier, he could see one of them clapping his arms back and forth in a wide arc towards his body, in an attempt to keep warm. Another had his hands cupped around his mouth, blowing hot air into his frozen hands. The third guy in the back, his first target, had a cigarette he was attempting to smoke. His other arm was wrapped around his middle as he moved around a little, trying to keep his blood circulating to add warmth to his chilled bones.

He'd estimated that he needed to immobilize six men altogether, three on the outside, three in, to get to Gianni. He would try not to kill anyone, but he knew these guys were playing for keeps. They were stone cold killers, and if their lives were threatened, wouldn't hesitate to murder him.

Mac finished with his knife and slipped it back into the sheath at his side. Then he slipped his other two mags of ammo into his pockets. He grabbed some rope he'd brought and twisted it around his waist, out of the way. Then he zipped up his black, lightweight, rain-repellant jacket, grabbed his Glock, and quietly started downstairs.

As he eased out of the building, he remained alert, noiseless. Moving slowly, cautiously, he kept an eye on the ground too, so as not to trip on anything. He crossed the alley and smoothly moved in the dark shadows along the back of the building, eyes on the target. His pistol was held low in his hands, his right hand covering his left on the textured handle, as he swiftly snuck up close to the guy who was smoking, with his head turned.

_Massimo._

He hadn't even noticed the ex-Marine approach due to the rain and cold. Mac got close enough to warn him in a low voice, gun pointed at his chest, "Hands up, asshole."

Massimo swiveled and his mouth dropped open comically, his cigarette plunking into a muddy puddle next to him. He made to slowly raise his arms, but then quickly tried to swing at Mac. Mac ducked his punch, simultaneously taking his hand off the trigger of his pistol, then swung around with his now unoccupied right, hooking a powerful blow into the guy's temporal lobe. It was effective. The guy dropped unconscious to the mud. He looked around to see if anyone had heard the scuffle. But the rain had masked the grunt of the man and his tumble to the ground.

He slipped his gun into the back of his pants and took off the guy's shirt, stuffing it into Massimo's mouth. Then he plucked his knife out of its sheath and cut off some of the rope he'd brought and bound the man at his feet and ankles. After he made sure the rope was secure, he grabbed his gun back out and cautiously started on to the next guard, by the entrance on the side.

_One down, five to go_, he thought to himself.

The next guy, Danny, wasn't so lucky. He'd been a little sharper, turned before Mac had time to warn him, gun drawn from his holster. Mac only had time to depress the trigger twice, a double tap to the front of the head, before the guy got him first. He cursed internally, but didn't have time to dwell. He still had four others to decommission before he got to Gianni. By then, hopefully Tom could help him subdue the scumbag.

He made his way forward and peeked around the corner at the front entrance and cursed again to himself. _Always expect the unexpected_. Instead of one guy up front guarding the door, there were two guys, smoking and talking tiredly. He drew in a hushed breath and swiftly rounded the corner, slipping up close to the two, Nick and Rudy, who were faced partially away from him, their vision degraded by the cigarettes they were smoking.

He held the gun at arm's length and pointed it at the two. Quietly, so as not to rouse the others inside, he ordered, "Hands up."

They both turned around in shock, but complied. He smoothly divested them of their guns and released their mags into the muddy ground. Then he tossed their pistols far away, a distant splash the only indicator as to where they'd landed in the darkness.

After he'd done that, he checked them for other weapons. They were clean, so he nodded with his head and had them walk around to the side of the building, away from the door. Then Mac pointed to the ground. "Get down slowly, hands behind your heads."

They just stood there. The taller of the two, Rudy, scanned him, a nostril wrinkling upward, pulling up the corner of his lip, and muttered, "You're a cop." He glanced around and shook his head, "Where's your back up?"

"Down. Now."

They were both getting braver, and the other guy chimed in. "He don't got none. Can't you see? Idiot came up in here alone." He snorted. "Gianni's gonna eat you for breakfast." He spat at Mac.

Mac ignored their jibes.

Rudy tried to goad him again. "You're not gonna shoot me, cop. I ain't got a gun; you have rules, and I'm bettin' you don't have tha balls neither."

"I'm not sayin' it again. Down on the ground, or I will put you there," he commanded ominously.

"Hey, your girl's in there. She's a _great_ screamer." Rudy bit his lower lip and made a pumping action with his hips.

Mac tensed, lips tightening, squinting slightly, his finger itched on the trigger.

The shorter guy, Nick, rejoined, "Yeah, she's real good. Bet you never made her scream like dat."

Mac kept his gun pointed at Rudy and jabbed Nick in the throat hard with his free hand. Nick clutched his throat and started coughing, gasping for air. Rudy got what he was waiting for, a chance to take advantage of Mac's split focus, and tried to swing to hit the gun out of Mac's hand. But Mac was too quick for him, and swerved out of the way.

Nick was still clutching his throat in pain.

Rudy shrugged and said, "Fuck this. I don't need ta fight. Just gotta call in the others." A menacing grin split his face. "There's enough broken windows, they'll hear. Then you're finished, _pig_."

Mac knew he was right. He couldn't take them all out at once if the rest came swarming out. But, most importantly, if Gianni heard, he could kill Stella before he got to her, even if he made it past all the rest coming at him.

Rudy saw his quick calculations and smirked in triumph, not realizing the full implication of his decision. Then he cupped his hands around his mouth, and yelled, "Hey, Gi, tha pig is he—"

Mac fired two rounds into his head. His body convulsed frenetically a split second before he plopped into the rocky mud.

Nick's eyes widened, Rudy's blood fanned out across his slack-jawed face.

"Anything else to say?"

But it was too late. Someone on the inside had heard. Mac, followed by Nick, saw the light flick on in the building. They both knew what it meant.

Nick threw himself on Mac's gun. Trying to wrest it from his grip. "Out here!" he yelled hoarsely to the inside.

They vied for control of the weapon, Nick almost getting it turned into Mac's chest, when Mac gouged his eye with his thumb. The man's grip immediately loosened on the gun, and he followed it up by rapidly striking Nick again, this time in his carotids.

He fell to the ground next to Rudy.

Mac hurried to the other side of the building, away from where he knew the other two would come. He knew Gianni (and Tom) would stick near Stella. Right before he turned the corner, glancing over his shoulder, he saw the guy appear around the the side of the building to where the noise had come from. Only one though, Mac observed, warily approaching the two forms on the ground. The other was still inside.

He double-timed it around the rest of the building, coming back to the front. Swiftly making his way to the door, he entered. His gaze swept across the inside, taking everything in quickly. Assessing. He saw Gianni and Tom standing there, and peered for a glimpse of Stella, but wasn't able to see where she was before, from the side, Eddie came striding up to him.

As he swung his gun up in the direction of Mac's head, they both shot. Luckily, Mac had better aim. Eddie's round missed, hit the upper wall to the left. But Mac hadn't been quick enough to hit center mass, and only winged him. Eddie dropped his gun in pain, but, quickly, in a red rage, ran at Mac, with all his 200 pound force.

Eddie might have been wounded, but he had adrenaline and strength on his side. He managed to prise the gun out of Mac's hand, making it fall to the ground. They both scrabbled for it, Eddie hampered by his wound, but he still got there first, barely. And they struggled some more, Eddie almost managing to rack a round in the chamber as Mac got a better grip on the gun.

Eddie tried again, but this time, Mac, knowing that Eddie was too strong an opponent to trifle with, managed to get his hand on the sides of the gun and drop the clip out of the handle. Mac grabbed the clip and tossed it as far across the room as he could. It scuttled metallically across the dirty concrete floor.

Since Eddie hadn't had time to rack in another round, the gun was useless. He grunted and threw it to the side. As he did this, Mac had just enough time to stand and pull his Ka-Bar out of its sheath.

He knew he didn't have long.

The other guy _had_ to be almost around the building right now, guessing where Mac was. Even with the silencer and the rain, the two pops of the gun inside could be heard by a discerning ear. Not to mention Eddie's missed shot, without a suppressor, had made an unmistakable noise. He knew that's why Tommy hadn't acted yet. Because there was still one guy outside and Gianni inside, with access to Stella.

Where was she?

Eddie stood up. Though he was strong, he was out of shape and his stamina was poor. He was visibly sweaty, beads of liquid slipping down his flushed face, panting tiredly and bleeding profusely from his shoulder. But he was still a powerful opponent. He yelled loudly and lunged at Mac, attempting to get him in a wrist lock, but failing. Mac wasn't as big as Eddie, but he was quick, agile, and he ducked back.

Eddie stumbled.

He was angrier now. And came at Mac like a ferocious line backer. Mac dodged him again and got a jab of the knife into Eddie's lower back. The man grunted. But he was thick, and he still kept coming.

He threw a heavy jab at Mac with his good hand, and Mac clutched it and used his momentum against him, kicking him sharply in the balls. Eddie instantly doubled over in indescribable agony and fell to the ground in the fetal position clutching his boys.

Mac knew he couldn't just leave him there. So he hit him in the temple with the butt of his knife and knocked him out.

But it had taken too long to bring Eddie down.

And when Mac looked up, breathless and sweating, he just had enough time to finally register Stella's small form on the ground, Gianni standing over her with a gun, when he saw Gianni nod at a point behind him. All the sudden, he turned and saw two guys coming at him, one with a knife, and one with a gun.

He'd miscalculated. There were _two_ more. Mac didn't know where the other guy had come from.

He barely had the time to proffer an internal, _Oh shit! _before he heard Paul demand, "Knife on tha floor, cop. Slowly."

Mac had no choice but to comply.

When he stood erect again, Gianni ordered coldly, "Shoot him."

He closed his eyes, his immediate reaction anger rinsed in pain for failing his beloved Stella and their baby.

He barely had time to register it, before he heard three shots ring out in the stagnant air of the mill.

Paul took two rounds to the chest, one to the head. His mouth dropped open, the whites of his eyes wide and distinct, and then he clumped down onto the filthy floor.

Everyone was still a split second in shock. The guy with the knife, Gianni, and Tom, who still had the gun trained on the man who had been about to take out his friend.

Tom knew what was coming next.

All the sudden, it was like someone flicked on a switch and everyone started moving again.

Gianni swiveled like a cobra and looked at him, shock, pain and rage sweeping over his features and drenching his voice. "I trusted you, you _fuck!_ You _rat!_ I. Trusted. You!"

A bolt of guilt flashed through Tom at betraying a man, betraying a friendship, even if it was a twisted one with a sociopath like Gianni, even if Gianni had this coming and so much more from everything he'd done.

Then he had no time to feel anything else, because Gianni tried to swivel his gun around to his chest. But Tom shot towards him, deliberately missing, in a warning shot. "Don't move, Gianni. I won't miss next time."

Gianni paused in hesitation a moment. Tom used it to take his gun and toss it. But then, Gianni, all rationality gone, jumped at him in vicious, blood-curdling anger. They both struggled for the remaining gun—moving off into the dark maws of the shadows along the walls.

Meanwhile, the guy with the knife had sprung at Mac. He got one cut in on Mac's arm, before he had enough time to fully block it. Mac barely felt it past the adrenaline surging throughout his body.

In the shadows, there was the sound of scuffling, and then, abruptly, shots rang out. Then there was a pause. Then another shot sounded, followed by a moan, then silence.

Mac distantly heard all this as the guy lunged at him again. Grabbing his extended arm, Mac pulled, twisting it, using his falling motion to dislocate the guy's shoulder, making a cracking sound. The guy dropped to the floor in anguish, still clutching the knife. Mac reached for it, easily pulling it from the man's pain-weakened grasp. He tossed it far from the man's reach and looked around.

Unbeknownst to him, Gianni had been watching from the darkness, standing beside Mac's fallen comrade. He tried to calm his erratic breathing. He was out of bullets and he knew it. He would never make it to one of the guns on the floor before Mac could overtake him. He also knew he was outclassed as a fighter compared to Mac, knew his men were all dead or incapacitated—so, he made a run for it.

Deciding to slip out of the rear entrance while the cop was distracted, he planned to show up at his uncle's. It was time he took him in. He'd paid his dues. It was time, he thought to himself, slinking like a rodent into the rainy night.

Mac called out for Tom, not seeing him or Gianni anywhere. But, walking forward, his feet scratching across the dirty, debris-ridden floor, he saw Stella's unmoving body lying where Gianni had left her.

He hurried over to her.

She was unconscious, beaten, riddled with bruises and wounds. And she looked so fragile lying there like a little doll crumpled on the floor. He'd never seen her like this. She looked ashen. Her fiery spirit diminished, her warmth absent.

Mac knelt beside her. He called to her, his voice and hands trembling frantically as he carefully removed the gag from her mouth. "Stella! ...Stell!" Tears clouded his eyes as he gently moved her dark curls, checking her vitals. "Stell, baby...!" Her pulse was there, but it was as brittle and thin as old vellum.

Clutching at his cell phone in his pocket and pulling it out, he turned it on. He'd brought it with him, but had, of course, turned it off during his infiltration. While he waited for it to boot up, he ran his eyes over her, and, very tenderly, his hands.

She hadn't been shot, had no bleeding wounds, all her wounds had scabbed over, even the fresher ones. She had purple and blue ligature marks staining her throat. He brushed her cheek gingerly. Her face was dirty, save for some dried tear tracks running through the dirt. Her beautiful hair was lank and matted. Her clothes, the dress she'd worn the day of their first kiss, was torn and filthy, caked with dust and blood. Her head lolled limply to side, her arms and her slender, graceful hands and fingers had cuts and bruises, defensive wounds, on them.

All this took seconds to observe, though, to him, every moment stretched on endlessly. His phone finally booted and his blunt, shaky fingers dialed 911. After he'd answered their questions, and stayed on the line as ordered, he bent down to her. He could barely make out her shallow breathing.

His eyes clamped shut and he pressed his cheek to hers, hot tears stinging his eyes at what they'd done to such a beautiful and vibrant woman, the woman he loved more than his own life. "Stell, I'm gonna get you outta here, okay?" his raw voice breathed into her delicate ear. "Just stay with me, baby, plea—" He choked, grief-stricken, thinking of what he knew she'd had to endure—and what he didn't know. "Don't leave me, Stell...I—I need you." He swallowed thickly, then lovingly swept a thumb over her cheek.

Mac took off his jacket and put it over her, afterwards curling up into her still form, trying to imbue her with some of his heat, needing to be next to her. Feeling empty and utterly impotent, he wept and begged God and waited for help to come as the beating rain poured relentlessly outside.

"_...And on the pedestal, these words appear:_

_My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings;_

_Look on my Works, ye Mighty, and despair!_

_Nothing beside remains. Round the decay_

_Of that colossal Wreck, boundless and bare_

_The lone and level sands stretch far away'"_

\- Percy Bysshe Shelley, "Ozymandias"


	24. Epilogue

Hey, guys! Hope this chapter finds you doing well.:)

Sorry it's been so long of a wait. RL doesn't care about little things like fanfics.;) It's kept me incredibly busy of late.

I'm thinking that if I go ahead and publish my next fanfic, I might write it all out first. I feel it's better that way. We'll see.

I want to thank all of my beautiful, faithful readers for coming back to this story.:) And I want to thank the newcomers as well.:) The main point of this fic was about Mac and Stella. I can see from the number of chapter reads, from how many times you guys went back to re-read certain, favorite chapters, that you enjoyed those Mac/Stella parts the most. And that makes me glad, because that's what I wanted to give you. Gary and Melina had a rare, genuine chemistry that I don't even know if _they_ are aware they have together, but that I can see from the interest shown in this fic, still resonates with people today, even though the series has been gone for some time.

I want to also say how very grateful I am to _all_ of the great writers of the series. People like Zach and Timothy are inspirations to novices like myself, and I truly hope they are out there sharing their incredible gift with others.:)

I want to thank K for her kindness to me, which I could never deserve.

Before I finish this up, I just want to bring your attention to someone. I believe, no, I _know_ there is good in all people. But some people are just very special. Their goodness, selflessness, generosity, kindness and thoughtfulness defy expectations, rise above the average, common way of most people. All this time, writing this, my first fic, one person has encouraged me steadfastly, been unspeakably kind, surprisingly unselfish and staunchly true. That person is Lily. Guys, if you ever have a chance to talk with her, or be around her, realize what a gift of a human being she is. She is a rare and indescribably wonderful person, and if you are so lucky as to make her acquaintance...well, then count yourself unbelievably blessed. I do.

If you guys have ever heard that song "Vincent" (about Van Gogh) from Don McLean, there's a few stanzas in it that describe her far better than my paltry attempt can do. They go: "...but I could've told you, Vincent, this world was never meant for one as beautiful as you..." People like her are treasures and should be regarded as such. They make this old, sometimes tiresome, world far better to be in.

This chapter starts off a bit 'T,' and very different in tone, from the last one.

A final thought: "A life is not important except in the impact it has on other lives." ― Jackie Robinson

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**Epilogue**

"_...Can't you hear a pitter-pat?_

_Yeah, that happy tune is your step_

_Life can be so sweet_

_On the sunny side of the street..."_

\- Frank Sinatra, "On the Sunny Side of the Street"

Mac Taylor was in bed, making love to his wife of three years.

As he hit her favorite spot at just the right angle, Stella sucked in a sharp, stuttering gasp and then turned her head and moaned, clutching the sheet beneath her with both hands and burying part of her face into the soft pillow as she soared.

Even after all this time together, the sight of her still did something wonderful to him deep inside.

He let her ride out her release, torn between watching her incommunicable beauty in the throes of a bliss that he had produced in her, and aching with burgeoning pent up pleasure. After a moment, she released the sheet, heart thumping madly, and smiled.

That was the sign he'd been waiting for. Grabbing the swells of her hips in his large palms, he increased his rhythm and pounded into her, finishing himself off. Pressing in as close as possible to her, electric shocks of intense pleasure streaked through his convulsing body.

When, at length, he'd somewhat caught his breath, he turned and wrapped her up in his arms. "Fuck me, Stella..." he mumbled roughly, then inhaled her sweet scent and kissed her below her ear.

Her eyelids were still closed, a magnificent hum of euphoria coursing through her body. But she still had it in her to respond, slightly breathless, "I just did."

Mac chuckled quietly. She was an amazing woman in so many ways: passionate, loving, generous, kind, smart, sassy, classy, beautiful, brimming with laughter and light—and she was all his.

Stella interrupted his reverie by turning and placing a quick, soft, loving kiss on his lips, then saying, "Holy crap, Mac...for an old man, you've still got it."

His eyes snapped open, his exhilaration still present. "Old!"

She giggled through her soft pants, her heart still beating at a slightly quickened pace. Then her eyes slipped shut again, savoring the wonderful afterglow.

"Wait an hour, or so, and I'll show you old, Stella." Her laughter filled the air again, that intoxicating lilt present that he loved so much to hear. Mac bent his head and nuzzled the soft skin of the curve of her neck and pressed his firm lips there. Then he laid his head on her lovely breast, limp as a noodle, but feeling nothing but good.

She curled her slender arms around him and happily kissed the top of his head.

As he stayed there, listening to her heartbeat, he thought fuzzily that he loved her even more now than he ever did—more than he had ever conceived was possible to love another human being. And he never planned to let her go, just as he'd sworn to himself in the darkness of that building so long ago. To think he'd almost lost all this, lost her, because of the desires of evil men, and his own stupidity.

She was three months pregnant and just now starting to show a little. Mac placed a big, warm hand on her slightly rounded abdomen softly swelling with his child, _their_ child. Their bright, pretty, vivacious daughter was now two. They had just found out earlier that day that she was carrying a boy. Mac was proud as a peacock.

Life didn't get much better than this.

Marriage was hard work, like all the things in life that were worthwhile. It was all about balance. Being considerate about each other and attending to your partner's needs, sacrificing because you loved them. Not insisting on your way all the time, but bending, was important. Simple thoughtful gestures also mattered. As well as focusing on the good in the other, never the flaws. You needed to be honest about them, deal with them together, but never dwell on them.

When they argued, they did so with love and respect, being honest, realizing they were both on the same side at the end of the day, not playing games or trying to "win." Both felt that real winning was about seeking and finding the truth together, like in science. Both of their needs mattered, and so Stella gave and Mac gave.

One thing that helped them, in particular, was that they loved each other truly. All humans had a propensity to take things for granted, to feel entitled—especially about things that they had grown used to having. But Mac and Stella had learned the hard way how fragile life could be, how life, and death, could, and often did, slip up on you quickly, without forewarning, and smack you in the face, leaving you bruised and bloody, shuffling through the broken remains. They never forgot it, and it tempered their actions.

The case that brought them together had ultimately been a success. Which helped when the fallout came from Mac going in alone to save Stella. He'd gotten a formal reprimand in his file because he'd taken matters into his own hands, without permission or backup. But, after an investigation, it was clear he'd only killed in self defense. Because of this, and because of the way they'd sacrificed to help the Feds bring down a major crime organization—two organizations—they'd also gotten awards for bravery, and he'd gotten nothing but the slap on the wrist.

Tommy had made it out alive, which made Stella and Mac happy. He walked with a limp now, and because he'd had to be an actual witness, testifying against the mafia families in court, his real name used on the stand because of their Constitutional right to face their accuser, he'd had to go into Witness Protection with his family. Mac and Stella had seen him before he'd departed, and they'd hugged each other and cried, saying their goodbyes knowing that that was probably the last time they'd ever see their dear, old friend or his family.

Because they came in late in the op, and hadn't actually witnessed any of the events with the two families, they hadn't had to testify against them. So, unlike Tom, there was no hit out on them. They might've had to testify against Gianni, but, the families took care of that. His putrid, decaying body had been found out in the open, his hands cut off as a message.

And so, they'd only ended up having to testify about Gianni's crew that were still alive. They weren't any true threat because they had all been thugs, small-time dealers for Gianni. They had no real power, and they were all still incarcerated.

As they drifted off to sleep, entangled in each other, Mac sent up a quick prayer of thanks for all God had provided him with. He thought to himself drowsily that it was like he'd been granted a new life. He was wildly, inexpressibly in love with Stella; and Stella loved him with every fiber of her being. Their work was better than ever, they enjoyed their jobs, and their off time, they had a smart, beautiful little girl, another healthy child on the way, a lovely home, and even a dog.

He shook his head at the irony that he'd struggled so many times to start again with other women, watching it all crash and burn every single time, with Stella by his side during most of it. Mac figured the reason why it never worked with the others after Claire was because he kept trying to force it with someone else when the one he was meant to be with was by his side the whole time. When they did finally get together it was pretty smooth sailing, and it worked. And it was still working.

And Mac knew they'd be together for the rest of their lives—because he was finally home.

"_...I see friends shaking hands saying, 'how do you do'_

_They're really saying, 'I love you'_

_I hear babies cry, I watch them grow_

_They'll learn much more than I'll never know_

_And I think to myself what a wonderful world..."_

\- Louis Armstrong, "What a Wonderful World"

.

_**j'ai terminé (woot!)**_


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